


The Flying Sickness

by Butterynutjob



Series: Inappropriate 'Verse [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Asexual Character, Body Worship, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Impotence, M/M, Massage, Minor Character Death, Reconciliation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterynutjob/pseuds/Butterynutjob
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life that Charles Xavier agreed to two and a half years ago has become intolerable to him; he wants to get married and have his own children. When he makes an ultimatum and his bluff is called, Charles begins a downward spiral into alcoholism that is enabled by his fun but dangerous new neighbor, Tony Stark. Charles has almost hit rock-bottom when a sudden event changes everything and Charles and Erik have to learn how to naviagte their rocky relationship as well as their new - almost magical - abilities.</p><p>(Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3178988/chapters/6906068">Massage Therapy</a>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. This is a sequel! It won’t make nearly as much sense if you haven’t read [Massage Therapy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3178988/chapters/6906068)
> 
> 2\. Please note the warnings, and also note that I have tagged sparsely to preserve some surprises. If I haven’t tagged a pairing, character, or subject matter it’s because I want it to be a surprise. If you don't like surprises, message me your questions on tumblr and I will answer them. THERE IS NO RAPE OR NON-CON.
> 
> If you have any concerns about the story you would like to ask me privately, please message me on tumblr: [mc-meow-avoy-fassbender. ](http://mc-meow-avoy-fassbender.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> **This may not be an easy read if you are sensitive. I'm very nervous about posting this work so please be kind!**

_September, 2017, a Thursday evening_

Today, Kurt was playing airplane. It was one of his favorite things to do, although he also loved trains and cars and trucks - really, anything big and metal. Charles said that he was just reflecting Erik's interests; Erik couldn't be sure Charles was wrong.

Erik was on his back on the living room floor of their huge, tri-level, 3500-square-foot penthouse apartment, holding Kurt’s abdomen, and “flying” him back and forth, to and fro, making appropriate airplane noises. Kurt shrieked with glee, and even though it was loud and piercing, it was one of the sounds Erik loved best in the world. 

“Erik...” he heard Raven say plaintively from the other room. Kurt's mother didn't like the shrieks as much as he, apparently, at least not when she had company over. Raven had met her friend Irene taking a women's self defense class last year, which she did at Charles' urging. She refused to say that Charles was right about her taking the class - she would never admit that - but she had taken a liking to the idea of martial arts, and had started taking Tae Kwon Do classes soon after that. She was currently a blue belt. 

“Let’s be a little quieter for mommy, okay, little man?” Erik said to his son with a smile. 

Kurt smiled back. “Caws?” he said hopefully. 

“Sure, we can play with cars,” Erik said with a grin. Normally Raven entertained Kurt while Erik cooked dinner (Charles "helped," him in the kitchen - it usually just meant conversation, since Charles was pretty much useless when it came to cooking). But since Irene was over for dinner, Irene and Raven were talking in the kitchen while Erik played with Kurt. The planned meal that night was something that Raven could - theoretically, anyway - actually handle preparing. 

Charles had said he was working late tonight, which Erik contemplated with a little irritation; he suspected Charles still got self-conscious about their living situation even when as close of a friend as Irene was over. Well, she was close to Raven, anyway, and she knew about their...living arrangement. 

Kurt drove a toy car into his knee. 

“Oww,” Erik said, wincing heavily, pulled aggressively into the moment. He rubbed his knee and got down to the important business of vrooming his car around next to his son’s.

**

After Kurt was tucked into bed, Raven was just beginning to panic about the state of dinner, so Erik graciously took control of the cuisine just in time to finish the dishes and serve them. 

“Where’s Charles tonight?” Irene asked casually. She was wearing a tie-dye dress, as usual, and had wavy brown hair with both pink and white streaks. She always smelled a little bit like patchouli oil.

Raven glanced at Erik to reply. “He’s working late,” Erik said. He felt like he should offer an additional excuse of some kind but he didn’t know what he would say. 

Irene looked like she was about to ask a follow-up question and Erik didn’t want to deal with that, so he quickly changed the subject. “Raven told me you just got back from - where was it? Tahiti?”

“It was Fiji,” she said with a smile. “It was amazing!” She gushed for a while about the beauty of the island and Erik knew Raven was probably thinking the same thing he was as they listened, about their last family vacation - well, their only family vacation, about a year and a half ago. Charles had wanted to go to Sydney but Raven and Erik managed to talk him into Hawaii instead. Hawaii sounded similar in a lot of ways to Fiji, based on Irene’s description. 

“Now if I could just kick this headache, life would be great,” Irene finished, taking a bite of her potatoes. 

“How long have you had a headache?” Raven asked. Erik didn’t really care about Irene’s headache, but as long as the topic stayed off Charles he didn’t mind. 

Erik paused mid-bite as his own trail of thoughts surprised him. He didn’t want to talk about Charles?

“Oh, a couple weeks, on and off,” Irene said, waving away the concern. “It's probably a sinus infection. You know, airplanes and pressure and all that.”

“Do you want Advil? I might have Sudafed too if you’re congested...”

Erik paid the conversation only the barest attention since his own thoughts had surprised him so much. When he realized that Charles had missed dinner twice earlier that week, as well, he resolved to find some time spend with his boyfriend soon. Maybe they could go out, for a romantic dinner, just the two of them. And then sex. Because, come to think of it, it had been over a week since that had happened as well. 

Erik tried to remember the last time he and Charles had fooled around, frowning into the air, when Raven’s voice caught his attention. “Erik? We lost you for a second.” She smiled at him but the look behind her eyes said that she was a little...not angry, but perhaps concerned?

He forced his attention back to his companions only to see Irene looking at him with the oddest expression on her face. He eyes were a little unfocused, but she was also staring at him intently. “They’re going to take Kurt,” she said clearly, a little too loudly for the environment.

“Irene!” Raven exclaimed, shooting a worried glance at Erik. “What are you talking about?”

Erik stared at his wife’s friend, the one he’d always thought of as a harmless hippie, with a slightly open mouth as a cold fear gripped him. 

“Who’s going to take him?” Erik managed to say. Kurt being taken from him was one of his worst fears, and not without reason; he wasn’t Kurt’s biological father. 

“They are going to take Kurt away from you,” Irene said in the same oddly loud voice. Then suddenly her eyes snapped into focus and she abruptly looked really scared. 

“Irene? What--was that? Is there something we should--know?” Raven asked, her eyes darting between Irene and Erik. Erik was still staring at Irene, but all the blood had drained out of his face.

“I’m--” Irene shook her head. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t...that was weird.” She frowned and rubbed a hand against her forehead. “Did you say you had some Advil, Raven?”

“Yes, I’ll get it,” she said, leaving the table with one last worried glance between the two of them. 

“Are you fucking with me?” Erik asked bluntly when Raven had gone. His hands were both flat on the table in front of him.

Irene’s eyes got as big as saucers. “No, Erik, no. I’m really sorry. I've been getting these--feelings, recently. I’ve been thinking about...seeing a professional.” She looked distinctly uncomfortable.

Erik narrowed his eyes a fraction. “Do you take drugs?”

Irene’s face became hard. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I do smoke weed once in a while.” 

Raven came back into the room with the promised Advil, which she handed to her friend, obviously still bothered by her friend’s words. “Irene, did you mean what you said? Why would you--”

“I just felt it, okay?” Irene said, obviously frustrated. “I saw this image of Erik, without Kurt, and he was - he was…” she swallowed and looked at Erik helplessly.

“Devastated?” Erik finished for her quietly. He knew he would be, if that happened. If someone took Kurt from him. It was hard to even think about.

Not that that could happen. How could that possibly happen? Kurt’s biological father was dead. Erik trusted very few people to watch Kurt, and doubted Raven would take Kurt from him. Would she?

But children got kidnapped all the time, didn't they?

Erik recognized the signs of an anxiety attack in himself and forced himself to calm his mind. He chanted the periodic table of elements in his head as he had learned to years ago, when he was barely out of high school, as a way to help control his anger. _Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Beryllium, Boron, Carbon..._

Raven was still frowning, looking at Irene. "You saw...what do you mean you saw Erik, without Kurt? Where was I?"

Irene hesitated. A shadow crossed her face briefly, but she shook her head. "I didn't see you. It's probably nothing," she hastened to add with a forced smile. "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

Erik smiled tightly. "It's fine. Will you excuse me?" Without waiting for a response, he got up and left the table. 

Raven put her head in her hands. "Oh, I wish you hadn't said that." Someone taking Kurt away from Erik was one of his deepest insecurities. Raven blamed Charles for when he hired the private investigator to try and find Az. Ever since then, Erik had been a little less than reasonable sometimes when it came down to Kurt.

"I'm sorry, Raven," Irene said, clearly on the verge of tears. "I felt like...I couldn't help it. I think I really need to see a doctor.”

Raven looked up at her friend and saw real fear on her face. She put aside her concern about Erik and went over to silently hug her friend, carefully not denying that Irene should see someone - preferably, a psychiatrist. “It’ll be okay, Irene. We’re all gonna be fine.”

**

Erik slipped quietly into Kurt's room. He was still sleeping in a crib, but he was getting big enough that Erik thought that they should get him a real bed soon. He'd have to talk to Charles about that, seeing as how Charles held the purse strings.

Erik wanted nothing more than to curl up around his son, like he used to when Kurt was a baby, but Kurt was deep asleep and Erik didn't want to move him. He stood and watched the black-haired child breathe for a few minutes and eventually sat down in the comfy armchair in which he read bedtime stories to Kurt. He leaned his head back but kept his eyes on Kurt. He needed this, right now. Just needed to be near Kurt and know he was safe. 

Erik awoke with a start to Charles' hand on his shoulder. Hours had passed but it felt like seconds. "Hey, you want to come to bed?" Charles whispered. Erik nodded sleepily, drowsily happy to see Charles. 

"I missed you," he mumbled to Charles as they stumbled down the hall to their bedroom. 

"I missed you, too," Charles said softly, holding Erik’s hand until he sat Erik down on the bed and started to disrobe. "Can we go out to dinner, tomorrow night? Just the two of us?"

Erik flopped down on his bed with a sleepy smile. "That's exactly what I was thinking. Yes, please." Charles always made him happy. They hadn't had a date night in way too long.

Erik felt the bed depress next to him as Charles lay down and he snuggled up to his lover's backside. He remembered being upset about something earlier, but he pushed it out of his mind. Everything was better when Charles was home.

**

Charles sent Erik a text message in the afternoon, with the time 8pm and the name of the Italian restaurant that they had eaten at the night of Erik's 'bachelor' party. Erik smiled at the memory. They'd had a good time that evening; or good conversation, at least. It had been more like a date than a Bachelor party.

It was a nice enough restaurant that Erik dressed up a little; he wore a burgundy button-down shirt that he knew Charles liked and black slacks. He shaved too, because he knew that Charles liked the look of his stubble but not the feel, and he felt pretty confident that the evening would end with some touching. Charles, actually, wore a neatly trimmed beard now, in large part because Erik liked it on him. 

Erik arrived a little earlier than 8pm and was directed by the staff to a small banquet room upstairs. The room only had one table, and Charles was already there. Erik abruptly felt underdressed when he saw that Charles was wearing a suit. 

"Hi!" Erik said, with a big smile and a kiss for his boyfriend. Charles seemed equally glad to see him. "Are we celebrating something?" he asked easily, indicating Charles' suit. "Or is it just my lucky day that you look so gorgeous?"

Charles gave him a brilliant smile. "I almost wore a tuxedo," he admitted, a little shyly. "And, it could yet be your lucky day. The night is young." 

Erik smiled wide and claimed another kiss before sitting down at the table. 

"How was work?" he asked as he settled into his chair. Erik had quit his job at Charles' insistence more than two years before, but he hadn't particularly liked his job anyway. Charles, however, still taught a few classes on genetics at Columbia college because he liked to and wanted to. 

"It was...fine," Charles said, with a faint smile. His hair was getting a little long, Erik noted, just starting to curl up at the ends. Erik rather liked it a little longer and curlier, but he knew that Charles usually liked to keep it shorter than that. He looked away from Erik. "I'm sorry about last night; I had a stack of papers to grade and I thought that with Irene over it would be easier to get it done at school."

"It's fine," Erik said, looking closer at Charles. Even though his voice was light, he had the tension around his eyes that Erik associated with bad news when it came to Charles. "Charles...is everything okay? You seem--unhappy."

"Oh." Charles swallowed. "I suppose I might be a little...nervous," He admitted, tucking his chin and looking at Erik through his eyelashes. 

"Nervous?" Erik laughed affectionately, reaching for Charles' hand. "What in the world do you have to be nervous about?"

"Well," Charles ran a tongue over his lips, and Erik wondered for the hundredth time if he actually knew how sexy it was when he did that or if it was purely a habit. "I was going to wait until after dinner, but since you seem to be pressing the point..."

Charles pulled a small box out of his pocket and kneeled on one knee next to Erik's chair. It took Erik a few seconds to process what was happening if only because it was absolutely the last thing he had been expecting to happen. 

He looked at Charles in disbelief as a tentative smile curled up his lover's mouth and he took a ring out of the box. "Erik. My love. A little over two years ago, you asked me to move in with you and give this - give us - a chance. And I have. I love you now more than I ever imagined I could. I want to grow old with you, and have children with you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

Erik was already shaking his head and closing his eyes before Charles had finished the first sentence. Tears prickled behind his eyelids. "Charles," he croaked. "We've talked about this."

Erik opened his eyes and saw that Charles hadn't moved from his kneeling position and he still had the same soft smile on his face, but his blue eyes were brimming over with tears. He blinked several times in quick succession and the tears slid down his face on both sides. 

"We have talked about it, yes," Charles said in a carefully even voice. "But it was a conversation that I don't feel we ever finished." He looked Erik in the eye and for a moment his voice took on a tone that that terrified Erik. "I wanted to finish it."

Erik put a hand over his eyes. "Please sit down," he begged Charles. Charles hesitated for a moment, then efficiently wiped the tears on his face away and sat down in the empty chair next to Erik. 

Erik reached over and took one of Charles' hands in two of his. "Charles, I love you so much. I wish I could marry you, I really do. But I can't divorce Raven. I can't lose Kurt." Especially not after what Irene had said to him last night, even if she was a crazy hippie. "I thought you had accepted that."

Charles licked his lip and looked away from Erik for a moment. Despite his tears, he seemed oddly detached from the situation. "I lied to you a few moments ago, Erik. I wasn't working late last night. I went to a bar. I didn't actually drink...I just sat there, trying to think of reasons I _shouldn't_ drink. Because I feel recently like they have all gone away."

Erik held Charles' hand tighter. He could feel the distance creeping in; feel Charles slipping away. "Charles, I'm not going to leave you if you start drinking again."

Charles looked mildly amused at that. "I know that, Erik," he said gently. "My point was simply - I'm not happy. I love you desperately, but what we have isn't the life I want. I want a real partner, a husband. I want to have children. You must know I want that."

"Kurt is as much--" Erik started to say when Charles' eyes abruptly blazed at him and he interrupted to respond.

"No, he _isn't_ , Erik. You are his daddy, and Raven is his mommy, and I am Uncle Charles. I'm not a parent. I see how you love him, though, and I want that, Erik. I want to have _that_ bond with a child."

"You love Kurt," Erik whispered. He felt like his world was shattering. 

"Of course I love Kurt, Erik, but I don't have a parent-child bond with him,” Charles sighed. “He already has two parents."

"If you don't have that, it's because you haven't pursued it!"

Charles closed his eyes and shook his head. He seemed more exhausted than anything else. "It always comes down to me not trying hard enough, doesn't it?"

Erik felt like he'd been punched in the gut. He swallowed. "Relationships take work," he said weakly.

"Really?" Charles discreetly withdrew his hand from Erik's grasp. "How hard are you working at it, Erik?"

"Pretty hard, at the moment," Erik growled.

Charles continued as if he hadn't spoken. "What have you given up to be with me? What have you sacrificed? How have you compromised, Erik?"

"I quit my job because you asked me to," Erik said, exasperated and desperate.

Charles rubbed a hand across his chin. "Yes. That's true." He didn't say anything else, but he didn't have to; his point had been made. They both knew that although Erik had resisted quitting his job at first, he had ultimately been much happier having free time to spend with both Charles and Kurt than he had been working. 

"Dammit, Charles!" Erik hit the table before he could control his reaction. He wasn't truly angry, he was frustrated, but for Erik, all his intense emotions manifested as anger. 

Charles looked away from him and didn't say anything.

"I thought you probably wouldn't say yes to my proposal," Charles confessed with a little laugh that came out more as a choked sob. "That's why I almost wore a tuxedo - I thought it would be my last chance to wear it for a while." He didn't even try to stop the tears this time.

Erik found his own face was also wet. He awkwardly reached for Charles to embrace him and ended up pulling his chair closer to to his lover so he could pull him against him. Charles put his head on Erik's shoulder and sobbed unreservedly for a few minutes. Erik silently stroked Charles' shoulder as tears slid down his own face. 

"How long have you been planning this?" Erik murmured after a few minutes. 

He felt rather than saw Charles inhale against his side. "The proposal? Well...it's actually been a little fantasy of mine for years. It was only this week that I decided I wanted to do it before...before I leave."

Even though he'd had a strong suspicion Charles had been working towards that, it didn't stop Erik from feeling like his heart was being ripped out. He tightened his arm around Charles. 

"What if I'd said yes to marrying you?" Erik whispered. Oh, how he wanted to!

Charles sighed heavily and looked down. "I would have asked you to call Armando right away and have divorce papers drawn up."

Erik looked at Charles' profile and seriously contemplated it. Divorcing Raven. She wouldn't be happy. She had offered to move out, two and a half years ago, but she hadn't really wanted to then and she certainly wouldn't want that now. Raven liked her lifestyle, Erik knew that. She spent plenty of time with Kurt but she also had time to take martial arts and spend time with her friends. There were admittedly times when she couldn't handle Kurt on her own and needed help; even so, Erik couldn't imagine her giving up custody of Kurt completely. 

After three years of living with her, Erik knew Raven very well. Even though they weren't in love they were really alike and had a lot of the same ideals. In fact, he knew her well enough to know that he didn't want to be on the opposite side of a custody dispute with her; he had no doubt that she would fight tooth and nail to keep Kurt if she had to. The best Erik could hope for would be the same joint custody nightmare he'd lived through with Magda before Lorna had turned eighteen. Maybe that would be worth it, to keep Charles. Except...Erik wasn't Kurt's biological father, and he wasn't sure how a judge would look on that in a custody dispute, especially if he showed up with his ex-wife's brother as his life partner.

"You never adopted Kurt," Charles said. It was half question and half confirmation of what he already knew. It was almost like he could follow Erik's thought process, although they'd had some version of this particular conversation so many times that Charles was probably just cutting to the chase.

Erik closed his eyes. "No, I didn't. You know that Armando said it wasn't necessary since I am listed as his father on Kurt’s birth certificate. And...Raven..." Erik's voice faltered. He didn't know how to say this part to Charles, and had avoided it in the past in the interest of not rocking the boat: when he'd brought up the idea of adopting Kurt to Raven, she took it as a personal affront, probably viewing it as the first step towards Erik leaving her. And...he couldn't deny that it was. "I would need Raven's consent," Erik said finally. "She’s said--” he broke off and rephrased what he had been going to say. “I don’t think she would give it easily."

Charles eyes widened in disbelief before comprehension hit him, and then anger. "She doesn't--what about all that 'I want you two to be together' bullshit? She's not willing to--" Charles broke off. "What am I saying? I know she's not willing to." Charles reached for Erik's champagne glass; Erik didn't stop him. He took a sip and then continued, looking away from Erik. "Raven and I haven't spoken for some time, you know. We fought a few months ago because she got angry at me for trying to set her up with someone."

An inappropriate and not entirely pleasant laugh made its way out of Erik's mouth. "I could have told you that was a waste of time."

Charles glared at him. "I had to try _something_ , Erik! Soon after we got back from Hawaii I realized how much I was beginning to...resent her. My own sister; my oldest friend. I tried so hard not to, but I just kept feeling that...she was the one thing standing between me and the life I really wanted." He sighed and took another sip of champagne. "So I--introduced her to some people. Men and women. I've never been clear on what exactly her type is--"

"Nobody is her type, Charles," Erik interrupted. He couldn't help but be exasperated that Charles still didn't seem to understand his sister. "She's told you that. She's not interested in sex or romantic relationships. Is it really that hard to understand?"

Erik knew Charles wouldn't react well to the tone of his voice, but Charles' outright refusal to accept Raven as she was reminded him a little too sharply of his own mother's refusal to accept that he was gay when he had come out to her two years earlier over Skype.

"So now you're defending her." Charles didn't sound quite as angry as Erik had expected. "Are you really choosing her over me?"

Erik knew what he was supposed to say. He knew that his heart and body screamed Charles was The One, and he had felt that way almost since the first day they'd met. But he also knew...if Charles left, he would slip away. It would be...uncomplicated. Erik would ache for him, miss him desperately, and probably canonize him in his mind as the one that got away, but logistically it would be simpler. 

But if Raven left, or if he left Raven...because of Kurt, he and Charles would be talking with her on almost a daily basis, likely in a much more adversarial relationship. There would be court appearances, dirty laundry aired; she might even use the fact that Erik wasn't Kurt's biological father as leverage. Erik snorted. Might? She already was, by refusing to talk about Erik adopting Kurt. 

Despite knowing how she would react if he left her, Erik couldn't bring himself to resent her for being that way. Because that's how he was, too.

And...Erik felt a stab of unreasonable fear shoot through him as he abruptly remembered Irene's words, and arrived at the same conclusion he always arrived at: He couldn't risk losing Kurt. 

He didn't answer Charles' question, and that in itself was the answer. But he didn't want this. He would never want this.

"Please don't move out," he said, looking at Charles. If the thought of losing Kurt was intolerable, the thought of losing Charles was equally so. The only real difference is that Erik didn't actually have any control over what Charles did. 

"I'm sorry Erik," Charles whispered, his eyes finally dry, but red-rimmed and swollen. "I need to."

**

They ate their dinner in silence, even though the steak tasted like ashes in Erik’s mouth. He didn’t say anything about the fact that Charles was drinking wine even though (to Erik’s knowledge) it had been a few years since he had last had a drink.

He probably wouldn’t have said anything, anyway. It wasn’t Erik’s way to tell people how to live - he had once suggested to Charles that he should consider drinking less, but he wouldn’t presume to tell him he shouldn’t drink at all. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but be concerned; he loved Charles. 

They shared a cab home, cordial with each other, but not conversing. When they got home and they were in their bedroom, Erik started undressing Charles, and kissing the flesh exposed as he removed each article. Charles face was full of pain when he met Erik's eyes. “Are you sure you want this? It might hurt worse tomorrow."

Erik looked over every detail on Charles' face; his permanently red and chapped lips; the freckles on his nose; his blue, expressive eyes. "It's going to hurt the rest of my life," he said softly. He pressed a soft but insistent kiss to Charles' lips and felt the moment when Charles’ indecision to turned to acceptance and he immediately couldn't get enough. Charles kissed Erik back desperately, sloppily, eagerly. He pushed Erik back on the bed and almost ripped the buttons off Erik's shirt in his eagerness to disrobe his lover, biting at his neck.

"I want to fuck you," Charles whispered into Erik's ear between bites. "Dammit, I want to fill you up." His voice broke on the last word. 

It wasn't what they usually did, but it was exactly what Erik wanted it, for Charles to take him and dominate him. He nodded, wordlessly, and Charles got the lube out of drawer. 

Since Charles was standing and Erik was seated on the edge of the bed, Erik pulled Charles close to him and unbuttoned Charles' pants, pulled them down so Charles could step out of them. He moved his face so that Charles’ penis slid along Erik’s smooth-shaven cheek before he turned his head to move his lips along the side of the firm, warm shaft. He reached around Charles to grasp his buttocks and used that grip to bring Charles even closer, so he could kiss the small paunch Charles had--bigger than it had been when they’d first moved in together, but still just as adorable to Erik as ever--and tried to memorize the feel and scent of him. Charles stroked his fingers through Erik’s hair gently until Erik finally took his cock into his mouth, when Charles fingers in Erik’s hair tightened. 

After a few minutes of Erik licking and sucking Charles’ cock in all the ways he knew he Charles liked best, Charles pushed Erik back on the bed, his eyes hungry and clouded with lust. He pulled off Erik’s pants and underwear, settling himself between Erik's legs. He lubed up a finger and pushed that inside Erik as he teasingly licked Erik's cock. 

Erik tried not think about how this might very well be the last time they would have sex, but his body knew it, and his penis was slow to rise to the occasion--after a few minutes of being fingered and fellated simultaneously, he was only about half-hard. Charles looked unsure for a moment, looking at Erik’s face questioningly.

"I want you to fuck me," Erik said in a low, thick voice. He didn't need his body to cooperate for what he and Charles both wanted. 

Charles kept his eye for a split second and then nodded. He reared back and up onto his knees and stroked some lube onto his own cock, which was reassuringly turgid. "On your back?" He asked Erik.

"No," Erik said as he realized that it would be too much to see Charles’ face; too intense to watch him. He turned over and got on his hands and knees. 

Even though he didn't usually top, Charles knew Erik's body well enough after two and a half years to know that he was ready, and they had stopped using condoms years before. He pressed the blunt head of his cock against Erik's entrance, pushing in slowly but steadily, until his cock was engulfed by Erik's body. Then he started a slow, deep rhythm that he knew would drive Erik crazy; Erik wanted to be fucked hard and fast, but Charles knew it was better for him if he worked towards that gradually. 

Charles clutched Erik’s hips as he gradually increased the speed of his thrusts. Erik let Charles set the pace, for once not wanting to be in control, just wanting to receive everything and anything Charles wanted to give him. He relaxed fully, trusting Charles completely, and was not surprised to find that letting go of his control also made his emotions let go; he cried, quietly, as Charles fucked him for what was probably the last time. 

Charles’ thrusts gradually became more erratic and yet also fiercer, and Erik become aware that Charles was crying, too, sobbing a little with each grunt. When he came, he let out a loud, choked cry and curled himself around Erik and held on fiercely. Erik felt the shudders of a few more sobs on his back before Charles pulled out and both men lay on their sides facing each other. 

Charles choked out a tiny laugh when he saw Erik’s tear-streaked face and red-rimmed eyes. “Aren’t we a pair,” he said, as his humor rapidly turned to sadness. He pressed a soft kiss to Erik’s mouth and they lay there touching foreheads for a few more minutes before they cleaned up and prepared to sleep together in the same bed for the last time.


	2. The Neighbor

_Early Saturday morning_

Charles was already dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed when Erik woke up, and it was barely light outside; it couldn’t have yet been six am. Erik reached for him, wanting to cuddle, but Charles gently removed his hands. 

“I’m going to a hotel,” Charles said. Erik couldn’t see his face at the angle he was sitting, but he did see that Charles had packed several bags that were sitting by the door to their bedroom. “Take as much time as you need to move out, but I do plan to sell the apartment once it’s vacant.”

Erik was suddenly wide awake. “You’re selling the--you’re kicking us out?” he said in disbelief. He sat up, the covers falling to his waist. 

Charles stood up and faced him. “No, I said, take as much time as you need. That’s hardly kicking you out.” His voice was even and cool, distant.

The deed to the apartment was in Charles’ name alone. It had never bothered Erik before, but he realized that it must have been a deliberate decision of Charles’ part. A recollection of a conversation they’d had two and a half years previously came to Erik, and he gave Charles an expression of pure misery.

“This is what you were afraid of,” Erik said, guilt rising up in him like a flash flood. “When you were going to move to Sydney. You said you would lose both of us.” 

Charles looked at Erik for a moment. He sighed. He looked sad and exhausted. Erik realized he must have been up for hours already packing, which means he hadn’t gotten much sleep. “And you said that I would lose you both by going to Sydney anyway. You were right, Erik. I was able to love you and have great sex with you for two years. I don’t...” he trailed off and shook his head. “Maybe I should have gone to Sydney, at that. But I didn’t. I seem to have ended up in much the same place.”

“Except that now you and Raven...” Erik trailed off and wished he hadn’t said it at all when he saw the look on Charles’ face. 

Charles’s face hardened minutely as he took a deep breath. “I think it’s best, Erik, if you and I don’t talk to each other anymore. I think it will be easier on both of us. You can call Armando to let him know when you’ve moved out, or if you need to communicate anything to me.”

Erik was shattered. He’d know this moment was coming, but he could never have been ready for it. “How can you do this?” he whispered, clutching at the blankets pooled around his waist.

A pained expression crossed Charles’ face. “Take care of her,” he said, so softly it was almost inaudible. Then he took a deep breath and picked up his bags. “Good-bye, Erik,” Charles said, and left.

**

Since Erik was emotionally drained but also irretrievably awake, he walked into the kitchen and passed Kurt's room on the way, where he saw his two-and-a-half year old son with one of his legs slung over the railing of the crib, clinging precariously to the railing with his hands. Erik rushed in and grabbed Kurt just as the boy lost his balance. 

Kurt startled and looked at Erik with wide eyes for a moment. "Mmm up!" he said, unnecessarily, his blue eyes bright.

"I can see that," Erik said dryly. If Kurt was to the point of climbing out of his crib, then Erik _really_ needed to talk to Charles about--

Erik felt like he'd gotten punched in the gut for a moment as he remembered he wouldn't be talking to Charles about anything, let alone a new big boy bed for Kurt. He and Raven would have to buy that on their own. 

Erik carried Kurt to the kitchen and put him in his high chair. He put a handful of Cheerios in front of the toddler while he started coffee, his mind going a million miles a second but getting nowhere, but his body functioning on automatic.

"You're up early," Raven said, walking into the kitchen. She tousled Kurt's black hair on her way to the refrigerator. 

Erik waited until Raven had pulled the orange juice out and was facing him as she poured it. "Charles moved out," he said bluntly. He watched Raven for her reaction.

She stilled for a moment, then finished pouring, not looking at Erik. "Oh." Her voice was soft. She recapped the juice and put it away, then turned to face Erik, leaning back against the kitchen counter. "Are you okay?"

Erik exhaled through his nose mirthlessly, but with dry eyes. "Not really." In fact, he felt...shell-shocked. Everything had happened so quickly; not twelve hours before he had been getting ready for an evening out with the man he loved. Now, his thoughts and feelings seemed to erupt with no logical progression, and it was all so overwhelming that he mostly pushed it down and felt numb. It barely occurred to him to note that she didn’t seem that surprised.

She looked away for a moment, then back at Erik. "Did he--is he already gone?" 

Erik looked away, not wanting to see the hurt in Raven's eyes. "Yes. He left about fifteen minutes ago. He's staying in a hotel until we move out of here."

The hurt in Raven's voice became tinged with disbelief. "He's kicking us out?"

"He said we can take as much time as we need." Erik recited the words numbly, looking at the floor. He certainly wasn’t going to make excuses for Charles now.

Raven studied Erik for a moment; he felt her eyes on him even though he wasn't looking at her. "We should move out right away," she said in a low voice. 

She didn't really have to explain why she thought that; Erik agreed with her, and he couldn’t even articulate why he felt that way. It had to do with pride, he supposed.

"I was thinking that too." He looked up at Raven then. Other things that hadn’t occurred to him before started to percolate through his awareness. "I'm going to have to go back to work."

She nodded, seeming distracted, crossing her arms in front of herself. "Did he say anything about...me?"

Erik ran a hand through his hair. "He said that you two haven't been talking since you fought because he tried to set you up with someone a few months ago."

Raven rubbed her forehead and sighed. 

“He also asked me to take care of you,” Erik added as an afterthought. 

Raven snorted. "Did you tell him I can take care of myself?"

Erik didn't reply.

Raven looked at him for a moment more, sipping her juice, looking away from him. "Did he ask you to leave with him?" she asked quietly.

"He did," Erik said, looking down again. "In fact, he proposed."

Raven turned around to look at him and he glanced up and immediately wished he hadn’t - the look of pity on her face was enough to make him want to cry, or possibly hit something. "Oh, Erik." She looked like maybe she was going to reach for him, but they didn't touch anymore, not even casual contact. It was one of things that had changed when Charles had moved in. She still had a question on her face, and she worried her lower lip. "Is this what you want?"

Erik looked at up her, finally displaying emotion: anger. "Of course it's not what I want! My wants are not compatible with each other, apparently. I want to be the husband and partner Charles wants and needs and I want to live with Kurt as well."

Raven studied him for a moment, her eyes cool and assessing. It did not escape her notice that her name was not in Erik's 'wants' list. Her voice gained a thread of steel in it. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Erik, but, just so we're clear - I would never willingly relinquish custody of Kurt."

"I know," Erik said, even as the tiny ember of hope within him extinguished when she said that.

Neither of them had anything to say after that.

“Unka Chaw!” Kurt yelled, looking around, blissfully oblivious to the tension between his parents. 

**

Charles’s mind was a whirling mess. He didn’t know if he was doing the right thing at all. He thought there probably was no right thing, no right path, no solution that made everyone happy. But his life had grown intolerable, being so close to Erik, but never quite close enough. He thought maybe he was being a spoiled child, but another part of him said _No, millions of couples don’t want to share their partner, you have a right to pursue something better._

Even though he couldn’t imagine ever loving someone besides Erik. 

The logical part of his mind told him this was what everyone felt like after a breakup. The emotional part told him he would never love again and was doomed to be forever unhappy.

And both of those parts wanted a drink.

Charles managed to avoid being tempted by alcohol until he had checked into his hotel room. He stood in front of the mini-bar, wavering in indecision, before he caved and had a small single-serving bottle of red wine. 

The bender lasted a few days. 

Charles woke up sober with late afternoon sunlight stabbing into his eyes and didn't know what day it was. He reached for the bottle of whiskey he could see out of the corner of his eye on the nightstand, but as soon as he picked it up he could tell that it was empty. He tossed it on the carpeted floor where it clinked against another bottle, and Charles peered over the edge of the bed to see that there were a few other empty bottles strewn about as well. He remembered emptying out the minibar and then taking a taxi to the bar that was close to Erik's old apartment, the one he'd used to frequent. He vaguely remembered sloppily hitting on a few different guys and getting shot down by all of them before he ended up telling his woes to the bouncer-slash-private-investigator whom Charles had hired to track down Az a few years before, Logan.

After that it got hazy. Logan had put him in a cab home but he had bribed the cabbie to stop at a liquor store - he'd come back to the hotel and had been in this room for...he frowned, trying to count...at least two days. He had a splitting headache, by the smell of himself he hadn't showered in quite a while, and the room was trashed. 

His phone was dead, but fortunately the hotel alarm clock had a built-in USB charger. Charles plugged his phone in and stumbled into the bathroom where he was happy to find an aspirin bottle. Apparently he'd acquired it at some point the the previous few days. He swallowed two aspirin dry and turned on the shower to warm up the water. Looking at himself in the mirror was a shock - his hair was greasy and tangled, and he had dark circles under his eyes. He had three or four days' worth of stubble around his beard, in the parts he usually kept clean-shaven, on his neck and cheeks. 

He guffawed a little at his own reflection - no wonder he had struck out with the men at the bar. He looked like a hobo. 

He felt a little better after the shower; the aspirin had started to kick in, too. He checked his phone and saw that his work had left three messages, Erik had left one message, and Armando had left one message. 

Raven had not called him. 

He swallowed a little at that, knowing that he'd left it to Erik to explain everything to Raven. He ached all over again and wanted a drink, but instead he pushed the thought out of his mind. He listened to the messages from work--as he'd suspected might be the case in the back of his mind, the university had decided to let him go after he had not shown up or called out for two classes in a row. He couldn't really blame them. He deleted the message from Erik unplayed, and listened to the message from Armando. 

_"Hey Charles. Erik called me to tell me that he and Raven have moved out. I feel kinda weird leaving you this message but he said you told him to call me so...yeah. Hey, let me know what's up, okay?"_

The concern in Armando's voice was palpable. Charles debated calling him but he didn't feel quite ready yet. 

Also, he had a bigger problem at the moment: he was out of alcohol.

**

Charles had only two Bloody Marys at the hotel bar before he had the brilliant idea of going back to the apartment, technically _his_ apartment, the huge 6-bedroom penthouse he’d shared with Erik and Raven and Kurt. 

He couldn’t really explain why he went back - maybe because it was one of the last places Erik would look. Or maybe he had gotten tired of the judgemental looks the hotel staff kept giving him.

On his way up in the elevator, there were two men in jumpsuits escorting a pool table. Charles pressed himself against the wall in the elevator somewhat uncomfortably, as it was a tight fit. He had a frown on his face as he saw that the only floor button lit up was the 46th floor - Charles’ floor, the top floor. There were only two apartments on that whole level, both being gargantuan penthouse suites, and as far as he knew the other one was vacant. The real estate agent had used that as a selling point; _Hardly anyone can afford to rent or buy a penthouse like this; it will stay vacant for a long time,_ she’d said, with a smarmy smile. 

Charles supposed two and a half years was a pretty long vacancy. Unless - the pool table was it being delivered to _his_ apartment?

Charles’ heart started to pound just as the elevator doors slid open. A man stood there, a man with dark hair and a goatee whom Charles would have recognized from plenty of television appearances and magazine spreads even if he had never met the man before. His jaw slowly dropped. 

“You can put that in the third bedroom,” The dark-haired man told the men with the pool table. One of them grunted an acknowledgement and they both picked it up, requiring that Charles flatten himself against the elevator wall even further. 

As the men got past him, the man turned his intense gaze to Charles. “You look a little small to be a mover,” he said. 

“Me? What? No, I’m--” Charles was a little flustered, still half-intoxicated and not expecting to encounter the man who had been the subject of several of his teenage fantasies. “I live here,” he finally said, nodding towards his front door. 

The man turned his head to look at the door indicated and then turned back to Charles with a frown. “Already? I thought the other couple moved out just yesterday.”

_The couple._ The words hurt a little, not a lot, just a tiny thorn in the bouquet of hurt he was metaphorically holding, but enough that he wanted another Bloody Mary. “That was my sister and her husband,” Charles said tersely. “The apartment is mine.”

“Oh.” The man looked at him appraisingly. “Tony Stark,” he said. He did not offer his hand. 

“I know,” Charles said simply. “We’ve met.”

“Of course you do,” Tony said, dismissively, before Charles’ second two words registered. “Oh, we have?” 

“Yes, at a cocktail party many years ago, not that I’d expect you to remember,” Charles said, adding belatedly, “Charles Xavier.”

Tony looked at him with his oddly intense stare before saying after a few seconds, “You’re right. I don’t remember you.” 

Charles shrugged and finally stepped out of the elevator. “Like I said.” He supposed it was rude of Tony to say that, but for once in his life he didn't feel like playing social games. He had met Tony Stark at a charity event that his mother had dragged him to before he’d become an emancipated minor. He remembered it distinctly; Tony Stark had already been a rich and famous inventor at age twenty-five, although a lot of his wealth had been inherited from his father. He'd had a girl on either arm at the party, and even though he had barely looked at Charles’ face when Sharon Xavier introduced her son to him, Charles had been star-struck and literally speechless. He’d had dozens of fantasies, after, about things he could have said or done in that moment that would have led to...well, a more physical interaction. 

Charles could feel his cheeks heating up as he remembered some of those fantasies. “Well,” he said awkwardly, “It was nice meeting you--er, seeing you--again.” He slipped inside his apartment and shut the door, not waiting for Stark to respond, and leaned against the door in relief. 

Charles found about what he expected in the apartment - there was still quite a bit of furniture, as most of the furnishings had technically been purchased by Charles and it seemed that Erik and Raven hadn’t taken anything that Charles had purchased; just what they’d moved in with. 

He didn’t know why that should make him angry, but it did. 

He belatedly realized there was no alcohol in the apartment and he would have to go buy some if he wanted it. 

**

Charles had managed to avoid running into his new neighbor when he left on his liquor run that evening, but on his way back back up, he saw Tony’s front door open shortly after he got out of the elevator. 

“Charlie,” Tony said, coming out into the hall. 

“It’s Charles,” Charles said, setting down the grocery bag so he could unlock the door. Erik had always been better with keys and locks than Charles. 

“Liquid dinner, huh?” Tony said.

Charles snapped his head towards Tony and saw that the man was shamelessly looking down at the contents of the grocery bag by Charles’ feet. 

_Rude,_ thought Charles, though he would never dare say that aloud. He gave Tony a small, polite smile, and entered his apartment without responding. 

A few hours later, when Charles was good and drunk, there was a knock on his door. 

He ignored it. He was lying on the balcony in the early evening shade, his head tipped back and hanging over the edge, smoking a cigarette. He liked the vantage; how it felt scary but really wasn't, how he could imagine falling into the sky if he concentrated enough. 

The knock came again. Charles lifted his head irritably and tried to think who would even know he was here? 

He didn't have to wonder much longer, because Tony Stark stuck his head out the balcony door and spotted him. "Hey! Charlie. There you are."

"It's Charles," Charles corrected grumpily, awkwardly navigating his head past the railing so he could prop himself up on his elbows to glare at the man. "What do you want?" Sharon Xavier would have passed out from the rude bluntness of Charles’ speech.

"Well, I, uh, know that all you had was a huge bag of alcohol with you when you came back from the store, and..." Stark spread his hands. "What can I say, I love a train wreck."

Charles snorted a self-deprecating laugh. "Well, you should make yourself at home, then. I'd offer you a drink but I think they took all the glasses."

Regardless of Charles’ words, Tony pawed through Charles' grocery bag of liquor, sitting in plain sight on the balcony. Charles grabbed the bottle of Glenlivet sitting next to him and had a swig right out of the bottle as he watched Tony with a sort of detached amusement as the other man found a bottle of gin in the bag. He unscrewed the cap, which had already been opened, and took a tentative sniff. "Do you have a cold, or are you sick in any way?"

Charles let his head dangle off the side of the balcony again. "Probably." He took a drag off his cigarette. 

Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Tony take a sip anyway. Neither man said anything for a few minutes before Charles' curiosity overtook him. He propped himself up on his elbows again. "Okay, what's with the glowing chest?"

Tony smirked with half his mouth. "Oh come on, pick up a newspaper every once in a while, would you?"

"Your ego is extraordinary," Charles said dryly. He would never have dared to speak to the famous _Tony Stark_ this way sober, or in any other social context, but alcohol had made him reckless. 

"A lot of things about me are extraordinary," Tony said casually, proving Charles' point. "Honestly, though, I'm kind of tired of telling that particular story. But I'd really like to know your story."

Charles scoffed and had a sip of his whiskey.

"No, I’m serious," Tony continued. "I get bored easily and you've kept my attention for, what, five minutes now? That's kind of impressive."

"You are unbelievable," Charles said disdainfully. He felt no need to tell Tony anything about his life until he noticed the older man was just staring at him, almost without blinking, not saying anything, not drinking. Charles felt suddenly like an insect on display. 

"Recent breakup," Charles finally to say, and tried to say it as succinctly as possible, ripping off the bandaid fast, as Erik always used to say...Charles felt a lump in his throat and quickly blurted, bitterly, "He wanted to stay with his wife and child." He didn't feel like volunteering any more than that, and that was enough, wasn't it?

Tony winced sympathetically. 

Charles observed the other man's reaction in a sort of detached way. That was one of the nice things about alcohol, Charles thought, it let you feel detached. 

"So. What do you...you know, do?" Tony asked. 

Charles spread his arms wide, still lying on his back, looking down at himself before he looked back up at Tony, a bottle of scotch in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "You're looking at it." He chuckled mirthlessly. He thought he probably looked like an utter wreck and found that he didn't care. 

"So you're gay?" Tony asked. He had seated himself in one of the two balcony chairs that Raven and Erik had left behind. 

Charles lifted his head enough to narrow his eyes at the inventor. "Is it a problem if I am?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm just trying to get you to talk." Tony had another swig of gin out of the bottle and made a face. "I'm not very good at, well, people." 

Charles didn't feel that required a response, but he did sit up. Mostly it was so he could get a another swig of his whiskey and a drag of his cigarette, though. 

"I'm good at robots," Tony said, brightly, and then reconsidered. "Well, not so much, actually. I'm pretty sure my AI butler is passive-aggressive with me all the time, and that's not how I programmed it to be. But, neural nets, what are you gonna do?"

Charles couldn't begin to parse what that meant. 

Tony fixed Charles with his intense gaze again. "Have you ever been with a woman?"

"Have you ever been with a man?" Charles retorted and then held his breath a little because he was actually curious about this. He wondered idly what it would be like to fuck Tony, whether he was a top or a bottom. 

"Ha." Tony gave Charles the first genuine smile he'd seen, obviously finding Charles' question very funny. "Nice try, Charlie, but we're talking about you."

"Is that what we're doing?" Charles tossed his cigarette butt at the corner of the balcony, where is missed the ashtray by a wide margin. He pulled another one out of the pack and lit it. 

"Well, some of us are trying to drink ourselves to death. I mean, I think that's what's going on. Like I said, I'm not so good at people."

Charles met Tony's gaze for a moment and held it. He felt like he needed to convey that Tony had definitely crossed a line with that comment, although he didn't honestly want to scare the man away. Charles found Tony's company...not unpleasant, and oddly freeing. Nevertheless, he felt slightly gratified when the other man looked away first, as if he'd won something. 

Charles had another slug from his whiskey bottle, then resumed looking at Tony. "What are you really doing here?" he finally asked softly.

Tony cocked his head and the side of his mouth quirked up a bit. "No electricity," he said. "It was supposed to be turned on today, but..." he shrugged. 

"Well, considering what you do, and who you are, is that really a problem?" 

"Actually, no, I could rig something...but, anyway, it will be turned on tomorrow, so it's not really worth doing anything about. And--" he shrugged. "I was curious about you."

Charles had a couple drags on his cigarette while he tried to decide if Tony was flirting with him. Then he realized there was an easier way. "Are you flirting with me?"

Tony's eyes got wide. "What? No, I'm straight."

"Oh." Charles wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not, but he certainly wasn't going to inflate Tony's already healthy ego any more by letting him know about Charles’ teenage crush. 

Neither man spoke for a while. Charles didn't particularly want Tony to leave, but he didn't have anything else to say, either. Charles turned to the side so he could watch the gradually darkening sky above the city as he finished another cigarette.

"I'm going inside," Charles announced after fifteen or twenty minutes of silence had transpired. Tony seemed lost in his own thoughts and startled at the sound of Charles' voice. "Oh! Hey. I guess I should be going." He remained seated, though, even though Charles was standing.

Charles shrugged. "You can stick around, if you want. Do you play chess?"

He didn't know what inspired him to ask that and in fact his stomach clenched painfully when he remember the last time he'd played chess. It also made a hideous gurgling noise. 

Tony eyed his midsection and then looked Charles in the eye. "You hungry?"

Charles felt himself getting embarrassed for the first time since Tony had barged into his home. He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten, but more importantly, audible body noises in front of a celebrity were not something Sharon Xavier would approve of. "I'll be fine. I lost my appetite several days ago and it hasn't found its way back to me yet." He gave Tony an awkward smile at his little joke. 

Tony frowned. "Would you eat pizza, if it ordered it?"

Charles considered. "You don't have to--"

Tony's expression became mischievous. "What if you had the munchies?"

Charles looked at Tony incredulously. "Is Tony Stark offering to get me high?" 

"Well, you offered to get me drunk. Well, you didn't, actually, and I didn't, either, but anyway, close enough." Tony got up out of his chair so quickly he almost jumped. "I'll go get my weed. Straight from California, it's some medical-grade kush. And I'll call for pizza. I'll tell Jarvis he is superfluous once the power’s back online. Hey, you still wanna play chess?"

Charles, drunk as he was, could barely follow Tony's non sequiturs. He suspected he would have trouble even if he wasn't drunk. "...yes?"

"Great!" Tony disappeared, for the time being.

Bemused, Charles walked into the living room, where it was fortunately warmer. He got his chess set out of the hall closet where it had always lived while he waited for Tony to come back. For the first time in days, he realized he was looking forward to something, even something as small as playing chess with Tony Stark. And then he realized he had barely thought about Erik in hours. 

It was a start.


	3. Counseling

Erik and Raven found a two-bedroom apartment that was available for immediate move-in and whose landlord was more than happy to accept two unemployed people with a toddler as long as they had a two million dollar trust between them. Lorna now lived in the dorms at MIT, but they had a couch she could stay on if she wanted to visit them.

Emma hired Raven back at Frost Massage easily, and once Erik found a job again (about two months after they moved) Raven changed her schedule so she was only working weekends at Frost Massage. Erik and Raven had separate rooms, and Kurt didn't even have a bed, once Erik explained to Raven what had happened with Kurt climbing out of his crib. Kurt slept just slept in the bed with whichever parent he wanted to. It wouldn’t work forever, but Erik slept best when Kurt was nearby, anyway.

The new schedule was a significant adjustment. It was hard on Erik, working a 40-hour week and then being solely responsible for child care two or three evenings a week and both days on the weekend, but Erik tried to tell himself that it was harder on other families, where the adults might actually want to have some private time together. That wasn't a concern for him and Raven.

Raven found the new schedule harder than Erik, actually, even though she worked fewer hours - weekends and a few hours certain evenings during the week. Much of her time was spent being the sole caregiver for Kurt and it was exhausting. They both knew that Raven's trust would not have lasted very long if they had decided not to work, and Raven was generally averse to dipping into it unless she absolutely had to. And Erik wanted to work. Being unemployed and letting someone else support his family had never actually sat very well with him.

Erik missed Charles like he was missing a limb. He threw himself into his work and then when he was with Kurt he let the rest of the world slip away and just focused all his attention on the boy. But during his commute, in the shower, those times when he was waiting in line...he found his mind was occupied with Charles even months after he had left. He would replay some of the time they had had sex in his mind, or invent fantasies about Charles dropping in on him at work, or running into him at the grocery store...

Erik didn't know where Charles was or what he was doing. He thought about it a lot. He had gathered from social media that Charles was no longer teaching at Columbia, so Erik thought perhaps he had moved to Sydney or some other far away place after all. He knew he could probably figure it out if he really tried, but he wanted to respect Charles' wishes.

He and Raven never talked about Charles at home. Erik thought sometimes that Raven must be thinking about him--hell, she might even be in touch with him, for all Erik knew--but by unspoken agreement they didn't discuss him. Erik answered Kurt's questions about “Unka Chaw” very simply and directly in the first few days after Charles left ("Uncle Charles doesn't live with us anymore. No, I don't know where he is. Yes, I feel sad about it.") and he was sure Raven had given Kurt similar answers, but after a few weeks the boy stopped asking. 

Erik and Raven actually didn't discuss...anything, Erik realized about five months after Charles had left. After Erik got a job, they had busy, opposite schedules and Erik realized that he hadn't had a real conversation that wasn't just a discussion of household or child care logistics with Raven since the morning Charles left. Before, he had felt a certain camaraderie, a feeling of being on the same team, that was entirely missing now. 

She was sitting up in bed reading one night when he came to her door. "Hey, got a sec?"

"Yeah, what's up?" she said, looking at him over her book.

"I was thinking maybe we could get a babysitter this Friday night, maybe have dinner out somewhere."

Raven looked at Erik uncomprehendingly. "Just--me and you?"

"...yes?"

She frowned at him and then spoke sharply. "If you're going to leave me, I don't want to wait until Friday to hear it from you."

Erik huffed in exasperation. "Raven, Jesus...I'm not going to leave you. I just feel like we haven't talked at all in a long time. We used to be...well, you know, friends. We used to trust each other a little more. And recently I feel like we might have lost that."

"Whose fault is that?" There was a hard edge to her voice and she was looking at him steadily as if she, at least, knew who to blame. 

Erik mouth opened in surprise. "Are you saying it's me? Did I - do something?"

"Well, yeah, Erik, I know you were thinking about divorcing me and marrying Charles. And since you asked a few times about adoption I know you were probably thinking about how you could get custody of Kurt. So of course that's going to affect how much I trust you." She spit out the words caustically, as if every one of them was obvious. 

Erik couldn't believe how far out of alignment they were. He stared at her, stunned. He could not deny thinking those things, of course. "But - Raven, I am trying to make this work! If you decide not to trust me or talk to me because of thoughts that _might_ be in my head - well, that's kind like of a self-fulfilling prophecy, isn't it? Are you _trying_ to push me away?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide but her mouth firmly shut, gripping the sheets around her waist with white knuckles. 

"No," she said finally. "But speaking of prophecy...something Irene said kinda scared me, and I think I’ve been reacting to that a bit." She licked her lips nervously. "She said you and Charles are going to raise Kurt."

Erik's heart leapt a little at the words because it was what he so desperately wanted in his secret heart of hearts, but he tried to remain calm and rational. "Well, Irene also told me that someone was going to take Kurt from me. So she's contradicting herself," he said reasonably.

Raven looked uncertain. "Oh. Yeah, I guess so."

"Maybe..." Erik walked into the room and sat on the edge of Raven's bed. She watched him warily. That small gesture was hard for him because it was so outside of their established boundaries, but he made himself do it because he thought those boundaries might be part of the problem. "Maybe Irene thinks she's seeing the future, but she's really seeing our deepest insecurities."

Raven contemplated that, looking at Erik's face without really seeing it. She started nodding slowly. "That does make sense," she agreed in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

"If you're amenable..." Erik took a deep breath. He had been planning to suggest this over dinner, but she seemed to be in a receptive frame of mind right now. He looked her in the eye. "I think some couples' counseling might be a good idea for us."

Raven laughed in surprise and then laughed even harder when she saw that Erik was serious. He smiled because he hadn't heard Raven laugh in a long time, and he realized he'd missed it. "You know what, yes," she said, still laughing, wiping a tear out of the side of her eye. "Let's do it. Even if it's just to see the look on the counselor's face when we explain--" Raven waved her hand in the air, a gesture intended to encompass their situation. "--all this."

Erik breathed a sigh of relief. "Great. I'll make an appointment."

Raven gave him a cute and hopeful look. "And after that, dinner?"

He smiled. "Sure." He patted her on her blanket-covered knee and went off to his own bed, feeling lighter.

**  
 _March 2018_

Charles didn't sell the apartment. He didn't even put it on the market, actually. He just moved back in and spent a lot of time there, mostly drinking. He also smoked a lot though, too.

He also spent a lot of time with Tony Stark. 

On days when he was sober enough, he could feel responsibility and obligation crowding the back of his mind. He should look for another job. He should look for another partner; wasn’t that the reason he had left Erik? To find someone he could love and have children with?

However, when he tried to picture himself with anyone besides Erik, his mind refused to consider it, and he would find himself distracted by craving a drink. And he knew even when he was drunk that he was in no condition to be in a relationship, anyway, not when he spent most of his time drunk. He thought it would pass. He thought he would get tired of drinking all the time. He tried to remember what kinds of things had kicked him out of these drinking phases in the past and then he realized he’d never really had a phase like this. 

Also, Tony. Tony _liked_ him drunk. Maybe that was because Tony was drunk a lot too. Charles would flirt with Tony sometimes, just a little bit, but the man would always just stare at him and then change the subject. He was impossible to read.

Although Charles had thought that about Erik, too, before he’d gotten to know him. 

One cloudy, ugly day in March Charles could not take the view off his balcony any longer. He knocked on Tony’s door. “I’m going to the bar,” he announced. 

Tony gave him a doubtful look, and Charles suddenly realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d left the house. He’d bought cigarettes a couple weeks ago, hadn’t he?

“I need a change of scenery,” he said to Tony. 

Tony looked at him thoughtfully. “You want to get laid,” he said. “That’s why people go out.”

Charles shrugged. Not at all, actually. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d gotten an erection. But he wasn’t going to tell Tony that. 

“I could be your wingman,” Tony said suddenly, then hesitated. “Wait, you don’t want to go to a gay bar, do you?” 

Charles snorted. “Just for you saying that, I should say yes. But no, I want to go to The Bar. I have a friend who works there. I used to…” he shook his head. “I had some good times there.”

“‘The Bar’?” Tony asked, scoffing at the name. “Well, it’s a good name for SEO purposes, I suppose.”

Charles didn’t understand why Tony said half the things he did, but Tony was going to go out with him and Charles felt a little warmed by that.

Logan was on bouncer duty that night and Charles greeted him warmly. Logan’s eyebrows raised to see him with Tony Stark but he didn’t comment. 

“So, wingman, aren’t you going to find me a date?” Charles teased when they were two drinks in. 

Tony looked around. “I don’t see anyone who's a good match for you," he said dismissively. 

Charles was amused. "What kind of person do you think would be a good match for me?"

Tony gave him an appraising look. "You know, I mean, someone of the same level of attractiveness. That's what makes for a successful relationship."

Charles' eyebrows shot up. "Oh, is it?" He was getting relationship advice from Tony Stark and trying not to spit out his drink laughing.

"Yes," Tony said firmly and a little bit defensively. "And underneath all that scruff and that ginger beard, you are, you know, relatively attractive. For a guy."

It was perhaps the most backhanded compliment Charles had ever received. "Speaking of ginger beards, how come I haven't ever met your famous assistant, Miss Pepper Potts?"

"Ha," said Tony at the joke. That actually meant he thought it was a pretty good joke, Charles was realizing as he got to know Tony and his mannerisms a little better. "Pepper and I...we had a sort of falling out. She's taking care of the company in Los Angeles. I needed a little break." He gave Charles a sly look. "I see you found the time to do some research on me after all."

Charles didn't know how to deny that, so he changed the subject. "Is there anyone in this bar who is at an ‘appropriate enough attractiveness level’ to date the great Tony Stark?"

"Not even close," Tony said without batting an eye.

**

Charles had never had a lot of friends, and the ones who he had called friends before didn't seem to know what to make of him by that April. Armando came by one day for some reason and was visibly disturbed by the condition of the apartment and of Charles himself. 

Of course, Charles was sitting on the floor of the balcony at the time in pajama bottoms, a white undershirt, and a bathrobe with bare feet. He had a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Over the many months since Erik and Raven had moved out, his hair had grown long and his beard bushy. Charles had a mirror, and he knew how he looked; he just didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was trying to get laid; he didn’t even masturbate anymore as all the drinking made it hard for him to hold an erection. 

Armando stayed only briefly, his eyes darting nervously around, and made an excuse to leave early.

Tony never seemed bothered by Charles' appearance or behavior. In some of his more lucid moments, Charles wondered if Tony's narcissism was so powerful that he literally could not see other people sometimes. He'd probably even said something to that effect to Tony, but the man had a habit of ignoring anything he heard about himself that he didn't like. It was an effective way to remain a narcissist in the face of evident flaws, Charles thought, and even had to admire that in Tony a little. 

And then he would laugh, realizing how fucked up that logic was, and he'd have another drink.

Also...Tony didn't really know Charles at all. He could and did build a persona of himself when he was around Tony that was very different than the person everyone else saw when they saw Charles. Tony had hardly ever seen him without a drink or a cigarette in his hand. Charles could say literally anything in front of Tony and the man was completely unfazed. Even the night that Charles had been throwing empty bottles at the wall in his dining room, Tony had come in with some sort of phaser-pistol he’d invented and showed Charles how to use it to vaporize the bottles instead.

Charles spent quite a bit of time in Tony's apartment, too, being terrible at video games on the custom-made 16-foot television screen that lived in Tony's front room. 

He didn't think about Erik much. Whenever he found his mind there, he had a drink or demanded that Tony distract him. He and Tony didn't talk about relationships, or feelings. They talked about inventions, technology, philosophy, scientific theories, whiskey, and drugs. Charles had never felt more macho in his life.

They didn't play chess again after that first time - it reminded Charles too much of things he didn't want to think about.

He woke up too sober one morning and realized that he was living in a pigsty. He called Tony on his cell and asked for a reference for a maid and Tony said Jarvis would take care of it. Charles didn't know exactly what that meant but a minute later he noticed a bottle of vodka on his nightstand with a few ounces left in it and drank them and then promptly forgot about it.

Soon after, though, he noticed that there were sometimes strange women in uniform in his apartment, cleaning things and doing his laundry and restocking his refrigerator with actual food. He had grown up with staff in his home so after the first few times they showed up he barely noticed them. He would just hand them a credit card when one of them came up to him with the look that said "time to pay" and Charles would give it. 

_This isn't that bad,_ Charles thought one spring afternoon as he lay in his favorite position on the balcony, the one where his head dangled backwards over the railing. He'd thought his life would be miserable without...without...those people he didn't think of, but he was really living the dream. He was young and rich, he didn't have to work, Tony could get him all the designer drugs he could desire...Charles thoughts were interrupted when he had a hacking coughing fit. Smoking a pack a day was beginning to take its toll, but he wouldn't be doing that forever, he rationalized. And at thirty-four he was still young enough to recover.

His stomach growled and Charles took a swig of whiskey to shut it up. 

"Chuckie," Tony called, coming out onto his balcony. "Got some fun stuff in from Cali. Modified MDMA but with visuals like LSD. You wanna try it tonight?"

Charles contemplated. "Ecstasy doesn't go so well with alcohol," he said contemplatively, holding up his bottle of scotch by the neck like it was a trophy.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Jesus, not everything is about alcohol. And hey, speaking of Jesus, you're really starting to look like the guy, you know?"

Charles laughed, a wheezing sound. He stretched, enjoying the feel of sunlight. "We all have our crosses to bear."

Tony didn't say anything for a moment, and Charles craned his neck to look at him. Tony was staring at him intensely with a small furrow between his brows. "You've lost weight," he said. 

Charles felt suddenly self-conscious of his body. Tony seemed unusually focused on his appearance, and not in a nice way, and it made Charles extremely uncomfortable.

So Charles responded the way his new persona would respond. "Why don't you mind your own fucking business?" Everything in his life that had seemed so easy and positive a few minutes before was suddenly twisted and wrong. Who was he kidding? He was a fucking alcoholic who was going to drink himself to death by age forty. 

Tony was still standing there, looking at him, with an inscrutable expression on his face that might have been pity. 

"Get out!" Charles snarled, reaching for the closest object and throwing it in Tony's direction. It happened to be his half-empty pack of cigarettes and all the cigarettes flew out of the box in an brief arch as he did that. 

Tony left. 

Charles took a few deep (slightly labored) breaths and had a long pull off the bottle in his hand. He started to feel a little calmer and had the vaguest feeling of deja vu, like yelling at Tony to get out was something he’d done before. Maybe he had. He drank to bury the black mood that had come over him at Tony’s observations. Fuck that guy, anyway.

**

_Late April, 2018_

The couples’ counselor disappointed Raven a bit, because she did not even try to pretend that what Raven told her about their relationship was anything she expected to hear. She stared at Raven in disbelief as she explained how she and Erik had gotten together and what Charles had to do with both of them. Erik nodded his confirmations whenever the counselor looked at Erik, which was frequently.

"Okay, okay," the woman finally said holding her hands up. "I need a moment to process this."

She looked at each of them for a moment, rubbing her chin. "Erik, do you love Raven?"

"I...don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "I felt like I did once, but so much has changed since then."

"Samsies," Raven said, with a small grimace, making light of it, although Erik had no doubt that it was the truth.

"When was the last time you spoke to Charles, Erik?"

"The morning he moved out," Erik said quietly. “In September.”

"Really?" 

Erik raised his head and the woman was looking at him skeptically. He was a little confused and affronted. "Yes, really. Why would I lie about that?"

"Well, you're in love with him, aren't you? And you expect Raven to believe you haven't talked to him?"

"Excuse me?" Erik said, feeling his ire start to rise rapidly. 

"I believe him," Raven said quickly, looking anxiously at Erik. 

"Do you? Or are you just afraid of Erik?"

"Why would--" Erik and Raven both started to say at the same time before the woman cut them off with a raised hand. 

"Okay, fine. Raven, Charles is your brother, right? When was the last time you spoke to him?"

Raven was silent. Erik was too, turning his head to see how Raven responded; he was curious. "I don't remember," she admitted. There was a catch in her voice. "Before he moved out. A lot before."

Erik felt surprised. "Not even email?" he said to her, a soft question. 

She shook her head quickly, looking down. "No. Nothing."

The counselor leaned forward. "Do you want to talk to him?"

Raven looked torn. 

The counselor looking considering. "Do you love him?"

"Yes," Raven said firmly. Tears formed in her eyes. 

"Why do you think you don't want to talk to him?"

Raven looked to Erik with a pained expression. "Erik doesn't want to talk to him, so it just seemed easier, I guess. And I wouldn't know what to say anyway. 'Hey, your ex is doing great with me, his wife' - he doesn't want to hear that."

"Why do you think he hasn't called you?"

"Well, he's mad that Erik won’t divorce me," Raven said reasonably.

"Do you think he still loves you?" 

Raven hesitated and then started crying in earnest. "I don't know. I don't know. I hope so. He meant - he was everything to me for so long. I'm so worried about him," she gasped. Erik took a chance and reached for her hand. She grasped it like it was a lifeline.

Looking at their clasped hands, the counselor said softly, "What are you worried about specifically?"

"He's an alcoholic," Raven said, still crying hard. "My fears actually started with a nightmare I had around the time that he was planning to move to Sydney. I dreamed he got paralyzed somehow and without Erik and he resorted to drinks and drugs and it was just--" she broke off, tearfully. "Now, that's how I envision him when I think about what he's doing. I mean, I know the paralysis part is ridiculous, but maybe it's a metaphor...I don't know," She resumed sobbing again.

Raven's words dredged up Erik's worst fears, fears he refused to believe. "He's stronger than that, Raven. He probably went on a bender for a few days and then realized that's no way to live. I'm sure he's fine now. Maybe he's not one hundred percent sober, but I'm sure he's not...what you're worried about."

The counselor looked between the two of them. "Without the patient in front of me, it's hard to say," she said gently. "But I think, Raven, that it would help you to know what's going on with him. I think you should call him. Not you," she said to Erik firmly. " _You_ should call, Raven, and not when Erik is around."

Raven was nodding, still sucking in great big gulps of air, but her sobbing was definitely getting under control. "Ok," she said softly. "Yes. I'll call him tonight."

**

_Later that same evening_

Charles was awakened by his phone ringing. It had fallen out of his robe pocket and was sitting on the floor next to his feet. He was dimly aware it had rung several times and he kicked it in annoyance. It slid over to the edge of the balcony floor but did not quite go over. Even though getting a new phone would be a pain he didn’t want to deal with, he found himself wanting to push the phone over the edge for some reason, or better yet, throw it. But he would have to get up to make that happen. Instead, he reached for his pack of cigarettes and found it empty, with the cigarettes scattered all around the balcony. 

He frowned at that, as he got the lighter out of his other robe pocket and lit up. He sat down in one of the balcony chairs. He had a vague recollection of throwing the pack for some reason…

Tony.

Charles sighed. He should probably apologize, he thought irritably, although it’s not like he hurt Tony by throwing cigarettes at him. 

His phone rang again. Charles glared at it with all his might, now that it was out of kicking distance. 

Tony walked out onto his balcony and silently handed him a Bloody Mary, his favorite hangover cure. The hair-of-the-dog, and all. Tony sat down next to him in the vacant chair without looking at him. 

Charles picked one of the scattered cigarettes up off the balcony floor and lit it. He smoked for a few minutes before he spoke. “I’m sorry about - what I said. And for throwing the cigarettes at you.”

Tony didn’t say anything and Charles looked over at him. Tony was looking out over the balcony railing. “Charles, I’ve known since I met you that you were - troubled. I figured you would work your own way through it. But recently I’m thinking--”

Tony broke off when Charles’ mobile phone, on the floor in the far corner of the large balcony, rang again. Tony looked for the source of the noise and frowned at it. 

“It’s been doing that for a while,” Charles said dismissively, trying to make a weak joke out of it. “Ignore it.”

Instead, Tony walked over and picked it up. “Charles Xavier’s phone,” he said. Charles was so shocked that his cigarette fell out of his mouth. 

Tony listened for a second. “It’s your sister,” he said to Charles, offering him the phone. 

Charles closed his eyes and shook his head. No. He couldn’t think about her. Not about...images of Raven as a young girl came to his mind unbidden; the first time he’d seen her, with tangled blond hair and a black eye; the time he’d broken up a fight at the community center between her and two boys bigger than her (she’d been winning); all those times she had crept into his bed after having a nightmare as a child. He wavered, suddenly missing her with a pain so sharp it was almost physical, and then he remembered what she looked like on her wedding day, wearing an off-white dress and a huge pregnant belly. When she married Erik. 

“No,” he snarled, getting up and going inside. He needed a drink. He found a bottle of gin that still had some liquid in it and had a few gulps, waiting for the familiar numbness to creep over him, but for some reason the alcohol amplified his melancholy this time instead of subsuming it. Suddenly he wondered why Raven hadn’t called sooner; why hadn’t he called her sooner?

And then he wondered what Tony and Raven were talking about. 

He walked back onto the balcony just as Tony disconnected the call. 

“What did she say?” Charles demanded. 

Tony looked up at Charles. “Well, she wanted to know who I was, and why you didn’t want to talk to her.” Tony paused for a moment. “Don’t throw anything at me, but: why don’t you want to talk to her?”

Charles deflated. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He knew Tony didn’t know the whole story; he knew Charles had been living here with Raven and her husband and he knew that Charles had broken up with someone; he didn’t know that his sister’s husband and his ex-boyfriend were one and the same, though. “I just don’t think I have anything to say to her.”

**

Raven held her phone to her chest after the man disconnected the call. Her heart had been pounding from the moment someone answered the call. The man she spoke to...something about his voice seemed familiar, although he had been evasive about giving her his name. He had not been at a bar, and that much meant a lot to Raven; it meant this person was more than just a casual acquaintance, and that Charles wasn’t at a bar. And...if Charles was seeing someone new, maintaining a relationship, then his life couldn’t be the train wreck Raven had been imagining. Could it?

She wanted to tell Erik that Charles was alive and well even if he didn’t want to speak to her, but she knew that the thought of Charles with someone else would hurt him terribly. So she kept it to herself for the time being.


	4. The Airport

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content/Trigger warning (plus a major spoiler) in the end notes.

_“Are you a victim of the ‘Flying Sickness’? If you or your loved ones recently flew out of the country, and now you have a bad headache and other strange symptoms that no one will believe, call the law offices of Sebastian Shaw today and join the class-action lawsuit! WE WILL LISTEN TO YOU!"_  
**

_One week later, early May 2018_

Charles stumbled out of his front door and across the hall to Tony’s door. “Open up, asshole,” he yelled, banging. It was after noon; certainly Tony was--

He stilled suddenly when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He turned to look at the elevator and Erik was standing there, his jaw dropped. 

Erik. 

Charles felt dizzy and leaned against Tony’s door. He closed his eyes. He must be hallucinating. 

“Charles, my god…” the man was coming towards him and Charles frowned but didn’t open his eyes until he felt the air nearly vibrating with the physical presence that could only be Erik. 

Erik was looking at him with a mix of pain and love and confusion, his eyes skittering over Charles’ clothes, his hair, his beard. “What--happened? How…”

Charles met the taller man’s eyes even though it was almost physically painful to do so. “What are you doing here?” he asked carefully. 

“I, uh…” Erik was still looking Charles over, his eyes roving. Charles didn’t even want to guess what he was thinking. He answered almost distractedly. “I ran into Logan; he said he’d seen you around the bar recently...I thought maybe..Jesus, Charles...I was just going to leave you a note, I didn’t expect…”

Charles barked a laugh, an ugly sound. “Bullshit, you were just going to leave me a note.” He stood up straight and walked back to his own apartment door. He did not invite Erik in specifically but he left the door open behind him. 

He walked into his kitchen and grabbed a tumbler out of the cabinet. He poured himself a whiskey while Erik stood silently behind him. He turned to face his former lover, leaning against the counter while Erik tried to find words. 

“I barely recognize you,” Erik finally whispered. 

Charles said nothing. He ached to hold Erik and be held by him, but he was also acutely aware of how dirty and disgusting he was. He felt like Erik’s eyes on him were flaying him alive, cutting back his skin and looking underneath and it _hurt_ so fucking much that it was hard for Charles to breathe. Erik deserved better than him. Charles took a sip of his whiskey and looked away.

“My step-father died,” Erik said after a few moments. “We are, uh, going to Germany for the funeral.” Charles knew that Erik’s mother lived in her native Germany; she had moved back when Erik’s American father had died when he was eighteen. 

“You and Raven and Kurt are, you mean,” Charles said. “I’m sure your mother will love that.” He said it with some bitterness because he’d talked to Edie over Skype a couple times before and she had been clearly confused and disappointed about Charles’s existence in Erik’s life. She had seemed to adore Raven and Kurt, though. 

Erik sighed heavily. “Yes, she will.” He loved his mother dearly and Charles knew how much it hurt Erik that she seemed to be in permanent denial that he was gay. Having a wife probably wasn’t helping his case any, of course.

“My condolences on your loss,” Charles said after a moment, sincerely. 

Erik gave him a little smile, acknowledging that Charles knew that Erik had barely known his step-father. “Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “I couldn’t find my passport and I realized that I put it on the top shelf of our bedroom closet here. So it’s...actually a good thing that you didn’t move out.”

Charles nodded and then just inclined his head and walked to towards his bedroom; the room that had been _their_ bedroom. Erik followed and Charles stepped aside and indicated the closet. “There you go,” he said, taking another sip of his whiskey. He wasn’t tall enough to reach the shelf himself, even if he knew exactly where it was. 

Erik reached up and retrieved what he was looking for: a small blue booklet. He gave Charles a relieved smile. “I was going to have to pay for a rush replacement if I couldn’t find this,” he said offhandedly. Charles smiled tightly and started to walk out of the room when he felt Erik’s hand on his shoulder, and then the other on his hip. He stopped, trembling.

Erik’s breath was hot on his shoulder. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered, kissing in the exact spot on the back of Charles’ shoulder that always made Charles go weak in the knees. His hands moved forward, tracing over the front of Charles’ hip, where his hipbones jutted out. “You’re so skinny now,” Erik whispered, his hands continuing forward.

“No,” Charles said with an effort. Despite feeling abruptly dizzy with arousal the moment Erik touched him, his penis was not even a bit erect and he was too ashamed for Erik to know that, and worse, to guess why. He pushed Erik’s hands down but did not pull away, breathing heavily. 

Erik stilled, his face still far too close to Charles’ body. “Why? Is there...someone else?” His voice had a possessive rumble in it.

“What? Did--Raven tell you that there was?” Charles didn’t know what Tony had said to Raven, and it was entirely possible that even if he’d said nothing, Raven would have drawn her own conclusion. 

“You told Raven?” Disbelief saturated Erik’s throaty voice.

Charles didn’t reply. Maybe it was best if Erik believed that he was seeing someone else. Charles could feel the heat of Erik’s erection pressing against him and he wanted nothing more than to go down on his knees and swallow it whole, but he didn’t move. If he was being honest with himself it wasn’t so much because of his principles that he didn’t act - although, It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, considering where they were at in their relationship - but more about that Erik wasn’t the kind of lover to let Charles go untouched, and Charles was too ashamed of his impotence to let Erik know about it. He pulled away shakily, turning to look at Erik only briefly. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, casting his eyes down and leaving the bedroom quickly. 

Charles went to the foyer, his body angled towards the front door, the “it’s time to leave” message clear. Erik emerged from the bedroom a moment later, presumably composing himself, his cheeks flushed. He walked over and opened the front door, then turned to Charles. He grabbed Charles’ hand abruptly and tugged him close for a passionate kiss. Charles had expected this, as he knew Erik too well to not expect it. He returned the kiss, gently, and wrapped it up quickly, although it pained him to not be able to do more.

Erik had tears shining in his eyes but he didn’t say anything else, he just left quickly, heading for the elevator, leaving Charles to close the door. 

He didn’t seem to notice that the neighbor’s front door was open and a man was standing there and looking at him curiously. 

**  
Charles was sitting in one of his balcony chairs having a drink and a cigarette when Tony joined him a few hours later. “You were banging on my door this morning,” Tony said, in his customary blunt way. “What was that about?”

“Oh.” Charles was pretty drunk and he squinted, trying to remember. “Yeah, I notice you lock your door even though you come in mine whenever you feel like it.”

Tony shrugged, absolutely dismissive.

Charles tried again to remember what he’d wanted earlier that day. “I think I was hoping you had weed?”

“Uh-huh.” Tony remained standing, looking down at Charles. “Who was that man?”

Charles took a deep drag of his cigarette before answering. He assumed Tony had heard them talking, and he picked the answer that he thought would lead to the least questions. “My brother-in-law.”

Tony was visibly startled. “That guy you were kissing is your _brother-in-law?_ ”

 _Well, fuck._ Charles rubbed his forehead. “Yes,” he said reluctantly. “He’s also my ex-boyfriend.” He dared to glance at Tony’s face, but the other man did not have the disapproving expression Charles had expected. Instead, he seemed thoughtful, and looked out over the balcony. 

“You know, that makes a lot of sense,” he said, with one of his quirky half-smiles. 

Charles realized that Tony probably thought he was a homewrecker. “We didn’t - I mean, she and he don’t…” Charles hesitated then laughed ruefully. “Well, now you’ve done it. I hope you don’t have plans today, because I think I have to tell you the whole story.”

“Finally!” Tony grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Charles and sat down in the other balcony chair. “I’ve only been waiting, what, seven months?”

Tony was rapt as Charles told him everything - from the ill-conceived massage to the ill-conceived proposal. Tony listened raptly, sometimes asking clarifying questions, but not interrupting. 

“Wow,” Tony said when Charles had finally finished. “That is a mess. I don’t envy any of you.” Charles hummed in glum agreement. Both men got lost in their own thoughts for a few minutes.

“Do you want to play a 3D video game at my place?” Tony asked, out of the blue. 

All his worries and family drama evaporated from his drunken brain. Charles nodded. “Yes.” He felt oddly relieved. “Yes I do.” 

**

Erik could not get how Charles looked out of his mind. His hipbones were protruding so much; was he eating at all? Who was he dating who would let him get into that state? Erik wanted to punch the guy in the face.

And, apparently, Raven knew all about it. Erik arrived home and walked up to Raven with a glare. “Why didn’t you tell me Charles was seeing someone else?” he snapped. 

Raven was taken aback but caught up quickly. “Why do you think? Because you would turn into the green-eyed jealousy monster, that’s why.” She paused and frowned at him. “Did you see Charles?”

Erik was still glaring at her. “He looks terrible,” he said flatly. “He’s drinking again, and it seems like a lot. His hair...his beard--he’s got ribs showing, for fuck’s sake!” Erik’s voice was raised to the point of yelling. Kurt, sitting on the floor, started crying. 

Raven’s eyes shot daggers at Erik as she picked Kurt up to soothe him. Erik immediately felt guilty and he recited the periodic table of elements in his head and breathed deeply until he felt calmer. 

“I didn’t even talk to him, you know,” Raven said quietly, after Kurt had been calmed down. “His new--a guy answered his phone and said Charles wasn’t available.” She added, quieter, “I didn’t think it was something you would appreciate hearing about.”

Erik knew that was true. Now he just felt drained. “I left my passport in the closet at the penthouse, so I went over there to talk to or leave a note for the new occupants, and he was there.” Erik shifted uncomfortably as he told Raven the white lie.

Raven looked at Erik, worry etched on her face. “He doesn’t look well?” 

Erik shook his head, miserable.

She sighed. “Maybe I should try going over there. If he won’t even talk to me on the phone, though…” she trailed off and shook her head.

“Well, I have the passport, so at least that went well,” Erik said with forced lightness. Raven smiled tiredly at him. It _was_ good news; they were emptying out their newly replenished bank accounts in order to make the trip to Germany, and the money a rush passport replacement would cost could buy them several meals. 

**

_Two weeks later: May, 2018_

Going through airport security with a three-year-old was an experience. Erik had thought young children were supposed to be exempt from some of the security protocols, but apparently the TSA agents at JFK’s international terminal hadn’t gotten that memo. After they had gone through the greatly hyped new security scanning machine and were sitting at their gate, awkwardly putting half their clothing and accessories back on, Raven grinned at Erik. “I’m actually kind of excited about this trip,” she confided to Erik. “I used to travel all the time and I loved it, but haven’t been able to...well, you know.” 

Erik smiled back at her. Despite the struggle he’d been having with his mother accepting his sexual orientation, he was also looking forward to the trip; he loved his mother very much and was looking forward to seeing her. But as he looked at Raven’s happy, smiling face, he realized: this is not right. Raven didn’t love him, not the way a woman should love her husband, and she would be nearly as happy if she wasn’t with Erik. No, the person whose happy face Erik wanted to be taking with him to see his mother was Charles. 

The counseling had helped, he realized, but not in the way he’d expected. They’d had four more appointments since the first one. Sometimes Erik thought their counselor was doing the metaphorical equivalent of tossing a dart at a dartboard full of issues (in that sometimes she was way off base), but many of her questions had led to Erik and Raven talking about things that really bothered them. As a result, their bond--and more importantly, the trust between them--had improved greatly. Yet at that moment, sitting at the gate, Erik had an epiphany: maybe joint custody didn’t have to be adversarial. It had always felt that way with Magda, but if he and Raven trusted each other enough...it could work. And it was a positive factor that since Lorna was now eighteen, he didn’t have to deal with Magda or child support payments to her anymore. 

Erik felt like an enormous weight had been lifted off him as the idea fleshed out in his mind. Why had he been so opposed to joint custody? He had been insecure about his hold on Kurt, and the root of that was because he hadn’t trusted Raven, not really. True, it would hurt not spending every night with Kurt. But wasn’t Charles hurting worse than that now?

He caught Raven’s eye again and she gave him a small smile. Even though he had more faith than ever before that he and Raven could work this out now, he realized it should still be handled delicately. He thought it might be best to do it at a counseling appointment, in fact, since that had been so good for them. He would make one as soon as they got back from Germany, a week from now, and decided not to say anything to Raven about it in the meantime. 

He fell asleep to romantic fantasies of how _he_ would propose to _Charles_ this time...if Charles didn’t drink himself to death or get engaged to somebody else in the next seven days. Eric quickly pushed that black thought out of his mind and focused on the positive. He would be with his love again.

**

_One week later, late May 2018_

Tony walked right into Charles’ unlocked apartment and onto Charles’ balcony, where the man seemed to spend most of his time. Charles had his cell phone cradled in his hands, just looking at it. 

“You expecting a call?” Tony asked. 

Charles looked up at him. His face was haunted. “I’ve had thirty-four missed calls this morning.” he said in a shaky voice. 

“Wow. That’s a lot. Who’s calling you? Is it your sister again?”

Charles shook his head slowly. “It’s everybody except her.” 

**

Seeing his mother was everything Erik expected: wonderful and equally frustrating. He knew Edie would love Charles if she gave him a chance, but she didn’t seem to believe that he preferred men, especially seeing as how he had remarried and had another child. He had told her everything, (well, he did leave out the part about the massage) including how he wasn’t actually Kurt’s biological father, but she seemed to only hear what she wanted to hear. It gave him a headache.

The person whose funeral they were there to attend, Erik’s stepfather (a man Erik had only met three times in his life) had passed away only a few weeks before but he had lost most of himself to Alzheimer’s years before that, and his mother had grieved the loss of her husband long before he actually passed away. Nevertheless, Erik made sure that several of his mother’s friends and relatives would be there for her after Erik went back to New York, and he promised to come visit again soon. 

With Charles’ wealth, and his optimism about his plan of action once he got back to the states, he was pretty sure it was a promise he could keep. 

**

The flight back to New York always seemed longer than the one to Europe, and Kurt was making it abundantly clear that he was done with airport travel. He was squirming in Raven’s arms the minute they stepped off the plane and he didn’t stop until they were almost at baggage claim, when she simply couldn’t hold him in her arms anymore. She let him slide down and turned to ask Erik to watch Kurt for a moment, but Erik was several feet behind her, helping someone move a very large bag. Frustrated, Raven turned around to Kurt again, but he was gone. 

Her heart almost leapt out of her chest until she caught sight of his black mop, running back towards the gate via the security checkpoint. Raven darted after him, her mind registering the shouts of the TSA agents but ignoring them in favor of catching up with her child.

She pushed through the security line, earning nasty looks from people waiting to go through the security check with their shoes and belts off, and just managed to grasp the back of Kurt’s overalls. 

“Halt!”

Raven looked up and realized she was standing in the middle of the arch of the security scanning machine, and about five Transportation Security Agents were standing around her in a circle with guns drawn. She saw Erik running through the crowd from baggage claim, and saw him stopping abruptly when he saw the situation she was in, his face white even at this distance.

“Let go of the child and put your hands up!”

Raven dared to lean down and whisper to Kurt. “Kurt, go to Daddy,” just as Erik yelled, “Kurt!”

The toddler saw Erik and ran to him, full-tilt. Raven watched until she saw that Kurt was safely in Erik’s arms before she stood up and raised her hands. “I was just chasing my son,” she said in a voice that sounded strangely modulated and unnatural. 

A shooting pain crossed Raven’s head and she put her hand to her forehead as she bent down involuntarily in shock and pain. 

“I repeat, keep your hands up!”

Raven tried to follow the directions, but the headache was so intense and so strong that she could barely see. “My head,” she said weakly. She did her best to straighten and stand upright, but then something else was happening. Her skin felt - strange. 

The travelers who had been waiting in line started murmuring and giving her terrified looks. “What?” she cried out, turning around. “What is it?” She looked for Erik and Kurt but she couldn’t see them.

Just then, many people in the crowd cried out and cringed away from her. Some of them had cell phones they were holding up in front of them. She kept feeling...both itchy and melty, her skin feeling like it was crawling, and the pain in her head was not getting better. She fixed her eyes on a short and fat TSA agent, a balding man with sweat stains showing a darker blue under his armpits who was training a gun on her with trembling fingers. She turned to face him. 

“What is happening to me?” she cried out in frustration, but the voice was not hers at all. It was a baritone voice, and she knew somehow that it was the voice of the same sweating TSA agent she was looking at.

“Raven!” 

It was Erik. She turned her head towards him and saw Kurt still safe in his arms, although TSA agents were holding him on either side. One of the uniformed agents reached over to take Kurt from Erik and Raven took three steps towards him out of motherly instinct before she thought better of it, but it was too late. 

Two gunshots rang out and Raven felt pain blossom in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Her hand went to her throat as she stumbled and fell, thinking _This can’t be happening_. Then Erik was there, leaning over her and looking into her eyes, his eyes wide and terrified. “Raven, my god, how...what…”

Then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven gets shot and killed at the airport when they arrive back from Germany. It is described from her perspective and may be disturbing to some readers.


	5. The Day After

_(mid-September, 2014 - Two weeks after Raven moved in with Erik)_

Raven entered the coffee shop nervously. _This was a bad idea,_ she told herself, but nerved herself up to stay anyway. She scanned the room and felt embarrassingly relieved when she didn’t see Az. She decided if he wasn’t there by the time she had gotten her coffee, she would leave and just text him that they weren’t going to reschedule. She felt she was home free when he hadn’t appeared after the ten minutes it took for her to get her coffee until she heard his distinctive voice with its light Russian accent behind her.

“My little bird,” he said softly, far too close. 

Raven jumped a little and stepped away from him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she snapped.

“Sorry,” he said, a light smirk gracing his lips. No, he really wasn’t.

Raven sat down at a small round table, her back to the wall, eying Az warily. He had never raised a hand to her, but she knew that he was not afraid to use violence as a solution in other situations, and that he had a tendency to end up in bar brawls. The nasty vertical scar crossing one side of his face was a testament to at least some of the violence he’d experienced. 

“Why are we here?” she asked bluntly.

“Birdie, you like coffee,” he said, and that same annoying smirk was back. 

She sighed and took a big sip of her latte. She did like coffee, but that wasn’t what she had been asking, and Az knew that.

“I miss you,” Az said after a moment, sincerely, looking at her with his piercing blue eyes, such a contrast to his black hair. “I wanted to tell you that I got a real job. Like you told me you wanted me to.”

Raven’s eyes got big. “I told you - that -?”

Az nodded, searching her face with his eyes. “The last time we saw each other, a couple months ago, we fought and you told me that I was a thug and a criminal. I was angry but you were right, and I want to be worthy of you. So I got a job.” He looked so genuinely happy and proud of himself that Raven blanched. 

Raven had no idea what to say. This is not what she had been expecting from Az today. A sickly feeling a little like guilt started curling its way through her stomach. 

When she didn’t respond, Az’s expression wavered, but he continued. “I work at the airport. Well,” he immediately caught himself, “I work for a private contractor who is designing a new kind of security protocol at the airport. But right now, at least, I do work at the airport. I’m on the build team for the new international terminal.”

Raven didn’t care what his new job was. She realized that she had somehow given Az a very, very wrong impression. 

“Az,” she said slowly, looking down at the table. “You and I are not - together. You know that, right?”

His lips tightened and Raven wished she had chosen her words more carefully. But he just looked at her before he said, slowly, “So what does it mean, then, that we make love every time we see each other?”

“Don’t say it like that,” Raven said, shuddering. “We don’t - I just - you know it’s not like that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I do?”

“Az, I sleep with you--” _So you will give me coke._ Raven thought better of finishing that sentence. She was afraid of how he would respond, and she had a reason to live now. “I mean, I can’t do that anymore. I’m...seeing someone now. We just moved in together.”

Her heart pounded as she watched his face turn murderous. “Who?” he said. 

Raven just shook her head. There was no way she was going to tell him that. 

“Birdie, we _made love_ not three months ago. Are you telling me you met someone else and decided to move-in with him in the past three months?” He deliberately used the words she did not want her to use and she cringed when he said them. 

“The last time you and I _had sex_ was…I mean, I knew him, but we hadn’t...” she licked her lips, because she had actually known Erik for six months or so before they’d hooked up. So it would be a lie to tell Az that the last time she had seen him was before she’d met Erik; in fact, it was from that encounter with Az that she’d gotten the coke that she and Erik snorted the night they’d hooked up. 

“So, what, you were fucking--both of us?”

Raven threw up her hands in frustration and had another sip of her coffee. 

“Does he know that you’re a whore?” He spit out the words, his eyes narrowed.

Raven gripped the coffee cup hard enough to bend the cardboard, despite that fact that it still had hot liquid in it. “Say that again, asshole.” 

“Does he know about Vegas?” Az continued, cruelly, his lips curling into a sneer. “Does he know that guys used to pay you to jerk them off?” 

Raven threw the remaining coffee in his face and ran out of the coffeeshop, her heart pounding, as the barista yelled at her in shock and Az spluttered. _Fuck Az._ A dark insecurity about the child she was carrying tried to make itself known in her mind and she viciously rejected it, getting into the car she had borrowed with shaking hands as she drove away, determined never to see Az again if she could possibly help it. 

**

_late May 2018 - the day Raven got shot_

Erik was pulled away from Raven’s body immediately, within seconds, and placed in what looked like a holding cell, or an interrogation room. He’d had Kurt on his hip when he’d run to Raven, and he refused to let go of Kurt even for a moment after the incident; fortunately the TSA agents eventually stopped trying. The room was small, with concrete walls and floor and a metal table in the middle. Kurt was crying for his mother and Erik was desperately trying to understand what he’d seen and wrap his head around the fact that Raven was gone. He’d seen them cover her blue body with a sheet before they whisked her away, her yellow eyes still open and horribly vacant.

Nobody took his cell phone from him, but nobody gave him a charger when it died after a few hours, either. He called everyone he could think of: Lorna, Charles, his mother, Charles, Emma, Charles, Armando, Charles…Charles finally answered after what had to have been dozens of attempts. Erik tried to explain but he choked up and all he could manage to communicate effectively was that Raven was gone. Charles was obviously drunk and didn’t believe him at first, but when Erik insisted it was the truth, Charles screamed at him that it was his fault; Erik had been supposed to protect Raven. Of course that was the moment that Erik’s phone died. 

The worst day of his life kept going on and on, as a string of uniformed men interviewed him, and it was clear to Erik that nobody seemed to have a clear idea of what had happened to Raven. Eventually, he was telling different men the exact same thing so many times that it just seemed like a story he told, losing its reality. 

"I saw my wife running after our son and I ran after them. I heard the agents yelling at her to stop. I lost sight of her for a minute and when I saw her again she was standing in the security scanner, and a bunch of agents had their guns drawn and pointed at her. I yelled for Kurt and he ran to me. Then she started...flickering. Her face turned blue, dark blue, and then she looked like me for a moment, and then she looked like a TSA agent, and then she looked blue again. She looked over at me and said “Kurt” and took a few steps towards me. Then I heard two gunshots and saw her get hit twice in the chest. She put her hand to her neck and fell. I ran over to her and her face and hands were blue and scaly. She looked at me for a moment and the she was gone."

The men responded to him like he didn't make any kind of sense, and Erik knew it sounded insane. But all he could do was relate what he saw. There were so many questions: did she have any symptoms beforehand, had she ever looked blue like that before, was she affiliated with any terrorist organizations involved in chemical warfare? Although both he and Raven had both had headaches since they'd left JFK a week before, something told Erik that he should not share that with the men, so he didn’t. He denied everything, but still they pressed, until he went on the offensive.

"It seems to me that an innocent woman was shot because she was trying to protect her son," he said glaring into the eyes of an uniformed man who blanched but did not deny it, although the man did say, "But why was she _blue_?" 

"I don't fucking know!" Erik roared, while his son shrieked. "But thanks to _you_ , we can't very well ask her now!" The metal table under his hands vibrated annoyingly; why did it keep doing that? Erik wondered irrelevantly. After that outburst, he refused to answer any more questions. 

After about eighteen hours they were finally released. Erik and Kurt took a cab home while Erik tried to figure out how to answer the question Kurt kept whimpering over and over: "Where's mommy?"

**

The first thing Charles noticed when he woke up was the cold. It was night, and he was laying on the balcony on his back with his head turned to the right. The thin bathrobe did not provide much protection from the sticky wetness of the vomit that covered his chest and hair. He felt miserable, horribly thirsty, and his head was spinning. Gagging at the smell, Charles carefully tried to sit up, but darkness crowded the edges of his vision. He tried to remember what had happened to put him in such a state and then his gorge rose again as he remembered what Erik had told him: something about the airport and guns and blue but definitely: Raven was dead.

Charles turned his head and dry heaved as the memory flooded his mind. Grief and guilt racked him and he squeezed his eyes against onslaught. He would have vomited again but there was nothing left in him to vomit up. He was distantly aware that he should have water, but he was too weak to walk. Blessedly, he passed out again soon after that.

**

"Charles?"

That word had meaning, once, he thought.

"Charles. Wake up."

The next time Charles was aware again was because somebody had dumped a bucket of water on him. He sat up, spluttering, looking at Tony standing over him and holding an ice bucket that was still dripping water. “What the fuck?”

“I tried being nice about it. I thought you’d prefer this to an ambulance.” Tony handed him a glass. “Water. Drink.”

Charles glared balefully at Tony but did as directed, taking small sips at first. 

“I distinctly remember locking the door,” he gritted out after a moment, not looking at Tony.

“Yeah. For once. I had bust out my lockpick set.” Tony looked at him dispassionately for a moment then said, matter-of-factly, “You need a shower and you need to burn those clothes.” 

“What do you know about it,” Charles muttered. He patted his pockets for his cigarettes only to find that those had been doused, too.

"Charles," Tony said seriously, crouching down next to the man, "If you die it will seriously ruin my week. Get up."

"Want a drink," Charles muttered. He still had the water glass in his hand but he and Tony both knew that wasn't what he meant. 

"I don't think so."

Charles woke up a little more and looked at Tony incredulously. "Who are you to tell me what I can and can’t do? My sister is--" Charles started to say the word, he wanted to spit it out at Tony, but it got caught in his throat and he shuddered as part of his mind tried to fight the truth of what he was saying.

“I know,” Tony said quietly. “I heard you yelling at what’s-his-butt on the phone last night. And then you banged my door down and wanted every drug I had.” 

Charles looked at Tony warily. He didn’t remember that, but it could very have happened anyway, considering the self-destructive mood he’d been in. “What did you do?” he whispered. 

Tony allowed the barest of smirks to cross his lips. “I gave you a handful of vitamins.”

Charles sagged back. He was lucky to be alive, he reflected, although a ugly part of his mind said, _You call this lucky?_

"Come on," Tony said abruptly. "Shower."

Charles gave him a death glare, but reluctantly tried to rise. He stumbled and Tony reached out a hand to steady him, which was basically the equivalence of heroism from Tony don’t-make-me-touch-you Stark, especially considering that Charles was covered in vomit. 

Charles allowed himself to be led to the bathroom and stood there swaying while Tony looked at him uncertainly. "Do I need to stay here to make sure you don't drown yourself?" Tony finally said, awkwardly. 

Charles shook his head numbly and started disrobing. Tony hastily left the bathroom.

Charles washed himself mechanically, but he couldn't forget what had happened. Erik had called him and told him, somewhat incoherently, that Raven had gotten shot and died at the airport. He’d said some other things about it that Charles didn’t understand, so it was hard for his grief-stricken and hungover mind to focus on those details. He remembered screaming at Erik and blaming him for no reason other than because he'd asked Erik to take care of Raven. He remembered - throwing his phone? Had he thrown it off the balcony? His thoughts started to swirl out of control and Charles closed his eyes and focused on the feel of water on his body. He was lucky to be alive. Tony was a better friend than Charles had expected. 

After a few minutes, Charles emerged with a towel around his waist and was surprised to see Tony still hovering in the hallway outside the bathroom. Charles was too wrapped up in his thoughts to do anything other than give him a curious look as he headed to his bedroom to get dressed. 

He opened his closet and saw a sweater Raven had given him for Christmas several years back. Charles looked at it and felt like the wind was knocked out of him. He was abruptly guiltily desperate for a reprieve; for a drink, for a fuck, for anything that would hurt him or pleasure him enough to make him forget for five minutes. Getting dressed was a little bit of a challenge because his hands were shaking enough that it was hard to button and fasten things. Belatedly he realized that the shaking may have a physical cause as well as a mental one; by his math it had been almost eighteen hours since he’d had any alcohol and thought he should probably have a bit at least just to be able to function effectively. 

Tony didn’t seem to be in his apartment anymore, and Charles' stomach clenched as he looked around and in cabinets and realized - all his alcohol was gone.

Tony entered Charles’ kitchen just then and Charles rounded on him with a snarl. "Where's my liquor?" 

Tony held his hands up. "Hang on. Let's talk for a minute."

Charles glared at him but decided to hear him out. He felt angry and violated that his booze had been taken, but waking up the way he had that morning had scared him. He imagined it might have scared Tony too. After a moment he nodded glumly and sat down on a kitchen chair. 

“I’m very sorry about your sister,” Tony said, looking distinctly uncomfortable. 

Charles took a few deep breaths. He was sorry too. He thought about the phone call he’d had with Erik last night and closed his eyes with shame at what he’d said to the man. 

“Oh, my god, I owe Erik an apology,” he said, leaning forward and putting his head on his hands. 

“If you say so,” Tony said diffidently. “I wasn’t actually there for that conversation, but I could hear you yelling a lot.”

“I blamed him,” Charles said softly, self-recrimination creasing his forehead. “I’m sure he’s in enough pain already; I can’t believe I did that.”

“So are you going to get back together with him now?” Tony asked, ever direct.

Charles looked at up at Tony with wide eyes, speechless. “I hadn’t - I can’t - “ the thought of him benefitting in any way from Raven’s death opened a abyss of guilt in him. “I need a drink,” he said desperately. He held up his shaking hand for Tony to see.

Tony looked at Charles’ shaking hand and concern strong enough that it verged on alarm crossed his face. “Alcohol withdrawal?” he asked. 

“I think so,” Charles said, his head down. He was ashamed to admit it but he was also tired of being ashamed. He just wanted a drink. 

“Tell you what,” Tony said after a moment, his face clear of emotion again, back in its default state. “I will give you couple shots if you will let me call my stylist to clean you up.”

Charles looked at Tony in disbelief and then started laughing right in his face, not a pleasant laugh. “Of all things, you think I need a _stylist?_ ”

“They have a saying in LA,” Tony said calmly, unperturbed. “‘Fake it til you make it.’ Yes, you need a stylist.”

Charles shook his head. “I need my phone,” he muttered. “I think I might have thrown mine away." he looked at Tony. "Can I borrow yours?”

Tony pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to Charles. Charles took it and started to dial the first few digits and then realized - he didn’t have Erik’s phone number memorized. _Goddamn smart phones_. He swore under his breath. “I can’t remember the number,” he admitted. “I’ll have to find my phone.”

Charles started to hand it back but Tony nodded to the kitchen counter. “I don’t like it when people hand me things,” he said. Charles rolled his eyes but put the phone on the counter. 

Tony picked the phone up immediately, jabbed in a text, then smiled at Charles. “My stylist will be here soon,” he said.

**

The stylist, Warren, was professional and efficient. Despite Charles' listless reluctance to cooperate in any but the barest of ways, he looked over Charles with a critical eye then called a hair stylist and a tailor and by the late afternoon, Charles was completely smooth-shaven and had shorter hair than he'd had in a very long time. He was wearing a tailored, expensive navy blue suit that hugged his now-thinner frame. Looking at himself in the mirror after all the beauty professionals had left, Charles sighed.

Tony didn't miss the sigh and instantly seemed almost insulted. "You don't like it?"

"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish," Charles said dully. "I don't meant to sound ungrateful, but regardless of what I may look on the outside, I am still shit on the inside."

"Charles," said Tony, leaning against the wall across the room, "I assume there's going to be a funeral. And you're going to see what's-his-butt. And whether you love him or hate him, you are going to want to look good. I have enough exes to know that," He added under his breath in a mutter.

Charles hadn’t even gotten around to thinking that there would be a funeral, let alone what it would feel like to see Erik there. His stomach did an unpleasant somersault, which could have been a reaction to Tony’s words as much as it was a sign that he _really_ needed a drink. “Well, it's hard for to me to care what I look like when I'm clammy and cold and having tremors,” Charles hinted, looking at Tony significantly.

Tony blinked. “Oh, right.” He went to his kitchen and pulled a bottle down from his cabinet and a tumbler. He poured three fingers for Charles and handed it to him, watching as Charles drank it. 

Charles sipped the whiskey slowly, feeling the soothing effects as the alcohol hit him. He smiled at Tony gratefully once he'd finished it. Tony was looking at him very strangely and took a few steps closer to Charles. He raised a hand to touch Charles recently smooth-shaven cheek, his eyes slightly unfocused. “You look so different like this,” Tony said, his voice almost a whisper.

Charles’ eyes widened slightly and his mouth went dry. Tony didn’t touch people. So...this couldn’t be happening. Not with _Tony Stark._ Charles nervously licked his lips. 

Tony’s eyes went directly to his lips at that movement and Charles realized, _Oh shit, Tony Stark is going to kiss me._ He felt frozen in place.

It seemed Charles had realized it before Tony had. “I want to kiss you,” he abruptly blurted out. Charles nodded, his heart pounding, not sure if he was just acknowledging Tony’s desire or giving permission. But it was a moot point, since Tony’s lips covered his a moment later. 

Tony wasn’t a bad kisser; not at all. He started a little tentatively but was soon kissing deeper, his tongue sliding into Charles’ mouth as he put one hand on the back of Charles’ neck, touching his newly shorn hair, the other hand around Charles’ waist. Charles kissed back, pushing to the background of his mind any reasons why he shouldn’t enjoy making out with the man he’d had a crush on since he was fifteen years old.

Tony pulled away slightly, his breathing more labored. “I can’t believe…” he started and then shook his head. “I’ve never - never wanted to - kiss a man before.”

Charles lips quirked. “Should I feel honored?” 

“Yes,” Tony said seriously, with overtones of “duh”.

Charles rolled his eyes and this time _he_ kissed _Tony_ , taking control of the kiss, wrapping his arms around Tony and pulling their bodies close together. If Tony wanted to kiss a _man_ , Charles would bloody well show him how a man kissed. 

He half-expected that Tony would feel overwhelmed and push him away. Instead, he felt the unmistakable press of a growing erection against him. 

Charles didn’t have an erection at all, of course, and he was actually surprised that Tony did. Nevertheless, he was intrigued. It gave him a sense of power to see Tony as he was when he pulled away from Charles--his cheeks red, hair mussed, lips swollen, breathing heavily. 

“Do you want to take this to the bedroom?” Tony whispered, leaning his forehead against Charles’. 

He was upping the ante. Charles hesitated, but did the math. Since Tony had never been with a man before it would be easy to dissuade him from touching Charles’ flaccid penis. He’d probably be more than happy with a blowjob.

And Charles was very good at blowjobs, and suddenly realized that purely from a physical perspective...yes, he did want to suck Tony’s dick. But, he was still a little too aware of things that he desperately wanted to stop thinking about.

“That sounds lovely,” he whispered back, putting his arms around Tony’s neck with a smile. “It would be even lovelier if you would give me a moment to have another drink first.”

“Oh.” Tony looked into his eyes for a moment and suddenly laughed. “Of course. Help yourself. I’ll go...have a quick shower, I think." He took a few steps in the direction of his bathroom. "If you were anyone else, I would think you were saying you needed a drink to get through having sex with me.” He flashed a quick, rare grin before darting off to the bedroom. 

Charles smiled a smile that was half a grimace at Tony’s retreating back. He went to get a drink before his mind could reboot and tell what a very bad idea this was. 

**

Charles woke up alone in Tony’s bedroom. He supposed it was morning; he had to guess, because he had never found his phone the day before. Unlike some other days, he remembered everything that had happened the day before: he sucked off Tony, they’d ordered a pizza, they had some drinks, they watched a movie and then he’d blown Tony a second time before he’d fallen asleep.

Tony had made it very clear how much he liked Charles’ lips, although that seemed to be about as far as his interest went. Their activities had been pretty much limited to kissing and fellatio. Charles wouldn’t have said that Tony was a considerate lover, mostly because he didn’t even offer to reciprocate, but he was at least very appreciative. 

And then he remembered Raven. Raven was dead. Guilt swept Charles. The day after his sister died he had spent blowing Tony Stark. And he hadn’t apologized to Erik. Erik, who was now a single father...Charles felt like an irredeemable piece of shit. The urge to have a drink was overwhelming. 

He got dressed and went downstairs. Tony was in the middle of his living room standing inside some kind of metal arch. He didn’t seem to see Charles, and was instead frowning at a tablet in his hand. “Jarvis, double the frequency _please_ ; I know I didn’t say please last time but if you could pretty-please-with-sugar-on-top do it - ah, yes, thank you.”

Charles approached the arch slowly. “What is this?” he asked. 

“Oh! Hey! You’re awake. I couldn’t sleep. I don’t sleep much, ever, actually. Anyway, this is one of those airport scanner things. I built one.”

Charles’ eyebrows shot to his hairline. “You built one? - Last night? - How? No, nevermind, _Why?_ ”

“Oh...right, you haven’t seen the news, I guess.” Charles got most of his news from the internet, i.e. his phone, which was of course, still missing. He resolved to find it that day no matter how long it took. “Have you heard about that flying sickness? Apparently a woman yesterday turned blue and scaly in front of everyone at the terminal. They’re saying it might not be a disease afterall.”

“So you built one because you want to look blue and scaly?” Charles asked dryly. The words seemed familiar somehow, and were tugging at the back of his brain unpleasantly. 

Tony did something to power down the arch and stepped out of it. “Well, the rumor is everyone manifests differently, a lot of people get supernatural abilities, but sure, I’d be blue and scaly. It’s an illness; I really doubt it’s permanent.”

Charles looked at Tony in disbelief. His head hurt. “I need to find my phone,” he said. He left Tony’s apartment and went back to his apartment and started searching. It took a couple hours, but he found it eventually in the dry rain gutter just below the level of his balcony floor - apparently, fortunately, he hadn't quite succeeded in throwing his phone off his balcony.

His phone battery was dead, of course, so he plugged it in to charge it and went back to Tony’s to get a drink while he waited. He also grabbed a few liquor bottles (since he was pretty sure Tony had taken these from _his_ apartment to begin with) to bring back over to his place. 

He scanned his messages and saw that Erik hadn’t called. Erik hadn’t called? His stomach twisted unpleasantly. However, he had a message from Emma Frost, which was interesting because she and Charles generally didn’t talk if they could help it. Curiously, he pressed play. 

It was funeral details. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Of course. The funeral was going to be the day after tomorrow, with a reception at Frost Massage after. 

Tony came onto his balcony then. “Hey. I just realized something and I think I need to tell you...that woman, that I mentioned, the one who turned blue at the airport? I missed that she apparently got shot right after it happened and I’m...well...I think that might have been your sister.” He held his phone up, a video playing. It was a shaky cell phone video, but Charles could make out what certainly looked like Raven - for a moment, until she turned blue…

Charles pushed the phone away. “Turn it off, please,” he said sharply. He couldn’t watch his sister get shot. His heart was pounding and he tried to get it under control. He closed his eyes and saw Raven, laughing at one of his jokes. He saw her in the delivery room, her blonde hair darkened with sweat and plastered to her head. His sister - whose last words to him he couldn’t even recall.

He sat for a moment biting one of his knuckles. He liked the pain. It centered him. “The funeral is the day after tomorrow,” he said after a moment, after he had pulled himself together somewhat. He held up his phone to show he’d found it. 

“Oh,” Tony said. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Charles looked at Tony, his brow wrinkled in consternation. “You don’t have to do that,” he said slowly. He thought about how Erik would react if he had any inkling of what had happened between Charles and Tony the night before and shifted uncomfortably. “Anyway, I’m not completely sure that I will go. Might have my own personal wake instead,” he said, with dark humor. 

Tony stared at him with his typically intense gaze. "I think you should go."

Charles decided to pour himself a whiskey after all. Tony didn’t stop him.

"I know that it hurts to think about," Tony said quietly. He paused for a long moment before abruptly continuing. "When my father passed away, I didn't go to his funeral. I won't say something so cliché as 'I've regretted it every day since', but honestly...I _have_ regretted it more days than not. There's a reason for funerals. It gives us closure. It--" he pressed his lips together and looked at Charles. "--it forces us to accept the truth that they're gone."

Charles felt a lump rising in his throat and resolutely buried it with a slug of whiskey. He stood facing away from Tony with his hands on the kitchen counter. “I need to call Erik.”

“Oh.” Tony sounded surprised. “I thought...Well. Nevermind.”

“You thought...?” Charles looked at Tony with raised eyebrows, a challenge.

“Nothing,” Tony said. “I’ll just go to my place then.” 

Charles poured himself a little bit more courage and thought about what it would be like to go to Raven’s funeral. He felt both a little annoyed at Erik for having Emma make the funeral arrangements and then realized - who else was going to do it? Lorna was eighteen years old and away at college, Erik was having to juggle work and childcare, and Charles himself…well.

With trembling fingers, Charles finally called Erik. The call was picked up immediately “Charles?”

Charles closed his eyes and held the phone close to his ear. “Erik. Erik, I’m so sorry for what I said. I don’t blame you. I know you wouldn’t have let anything happen to Raven if you could have possibly helped it.” The words tumbled out in a rush.

Charles held his breath when there was no response for a moment, then he heard Erik exhale raggedly. “Thank you, Charles; of course I wouldn’t have. God, I miss you so much,” his said, his voice cracking on the word “miss”. 

“I miss you too,” Charles whispered, his head a tangled skein of guilt for so many different reasons. But at least that was undeniably true; he missed Erik. 

“How are you - getting by?” He asked softly. “I mean with work, and Kurt…”

“I’ve taken a few days off; bereavement leave,” Erik explained. “But as far as child care...I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do when that runs out.”

The silence was pregnant. Charles cleared his throat. “How’s Lorna?” he asked. 

Erik sighed and took a moment before responding. “She’s extremely upset. You know how close she was to Raven, and this all happened right before finals, and she’s...well, she’s coming here to stay for a while, tomorrow.” 

Charles closed his eyes and leaned back. “That’s good,” he said softly. 

There was a long silence in which both men just listened to each other breathe. “Emma contacted you with the funeral details, right?” Erik finally said. 

Charles nodded before remembering that nods didn’t communicate over the phone well. “Yes. I will - see you there?”

“Yes.” said Erik firmly, almost feverishly. He inhaled as if he were going to say something else, but the pause just hung there. “See you - then,” he said awkwardly.

Charles nodded, his eyes tightly closed. “See you then, Erik.”

Charles disconnected the call and put his head in his hands. He missed Erik so badly it hurt, and in every breath of Erik’s, in every nuance, he heard Erik saying _I love you, I want you, I miss you._ Something was keeping Erik from gushing it, though, and Charles was honestly grateful for whatever that was because Charles was so ashamed of himself - of his drinking, his lifestyle, the fact that he hadn't accepted any of Raven's calls, his impotence, allowing himself to fall into Tony’s bed...he would go to the funeral, but he didn’t know how he would ever be able to look Erik in the eye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it this far! Here's some fluff if you need a pick-me-up:
> 
> [Charles And Erik Make A Porno (Fluff and Smut)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3424073)   
> [Shut Up And Kiss Me (Pure Fluff)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2699900)


	6. The Funeral

Erik was exhausted when he arrived at the funeral, and he knew he looked it. He loved Kurt dearly, but the boy had been incredibly hard to handle ever since...the incident. It didn’t make Erik’s life any easier that shaky footage of Raven turning blue and being shot was all over the television; he kept seeing it constantly, all over the television and internet. In addition, Erik had never before had to be the sole parent for a child for more than a few hours at a time, and he was still trying to figure out how he could keep Kurt safe long enough that he could at least take a shower. It didn’t help that he still had not kicked the headache he’d had since before they’d left for Germany. 

Lorna was supposed to have arrived the day before, but her flight had been grounded along with dozens of others, partly in response to the public outcry over the incident. She had contacted Erik and told him she would make it to the funeral by taking the train, but it meant Erik hadn't risked Kurt's safety to take a shower that morning.

It was an incongruously beautiful summer day. Erik had asked Emma for a non-denominational but tasteful service, and he was pleased with what she arranged - as pleased as he could be, under the circumstances. A Homeland Security agent had told him in no uncertain terms that Raven’s body would not be released to her family for a long time, if ever, considering the circumstances of her death. Erik didn’t like it but frankly he was too busy dealing with being a single parent to do anything about it. Erik hadn’t know how many people to expect at the service; besides Irene, he wasn’t sure how many people Raven had even been friends with. It turned out that all eight employees of Frost Massage came except for Angel; Angel hadn't been to work in a few weeks and Emma told Erik she thought perhaps the girl had gone back to stripping. Irene and of course Emma also came and for some reason Emma’s lawyer, Sebastian Shaw, did as well. Charles hadn’t arrived by the time the service started, but Lorna had, and when Erik saw his daughter they hugged for several minutes.

The service was about half-over when Charles slipped into the room. Erik saw him come stand between himself and Lorna out of the corner of his eye and did a double take because Charles looked absolutely _gorgeous_. He was still too thin, but it was night and day compared to the homeless messiah look he had been rocking a few weeks before. Charles saw Erik looking at him and shot him a quick self-conscious smile. 

Erik felt like a gross schlub standing next to Charles, seeing as how he hadn’t shaved or showered in a couple days, but at the same time he felt suffused by a soft joy at having Charles by his side. Where he belonged.

After the service, Emma announced that there would be a reception immediately following at Frost Massage. Erik turned to ask Charles if he was going, but Charles had already left.

**

Erik’s heart sank when he arrived at Frost Massage and found that Charles wasn’t there yet. _He left first,_ his mind whispered. _So if he’s not here, then he’s probably not coming._ Holding Kurt, Erik approached Emma’s date, Sebastian. 

“I may have need of an attorney in the near future,” he said without introducing himself. “Do you have a card?”

“Oh, of course!” Sebastian hastened to give him a card, while still being appropriately solemn for the occasion. “I’m very sorry for your loss,” the man said softly, his eyes lingering on Kurt for a moment. 

“Thank you,” Erik said, walking away. He didn’t plan to stay long if Charles didn’t show up soon. Lorna came up to him and silently took Kurt from him. She gave him a little smile and he realized that she knew exactly who he was looking for. He felt guilty letting Lorna take Kurt from his arms, but not so guilty that he wasn’t happy to give his arms a reprieve from holding the toddler; there were so few people he trusted with his son. In fact, he should probably ask Lorna now if she would be willing to watch Kurt for a few hours, because if Charles didn’t come, he planned to go to Charles’ apartment anyway.

And then Charles was in the doorway, looking nervous but still as absolutely delicious as he had at the service. Erik walked toward him rapidly and wondered if pressing him against the wall and kissing him for fifteen minutes would be inappropriate. 

Charles saw him approaching and his face lit up for a moment before he just looked conflicted. Erik hesitated, still approaching but with slower steps. 

“Hi,” he said tentatively when he was a few feet away. 

Charles bit his lip and looked up at him. “Hi,” he said softly. His eyes were as big and blue as Erik had ever seen them. He thought irrelevantly that the blue suit was probably causing that effect. 

Erik started to say something else, but before he could, a dark-haired man with a goatee came and stood next to Charles. Erik flashed him a look of annoyance - couldn’t he see they were having a conversation? - when to Erik’s shock the man took Charles’ hand and kissed it. Then recognition lit up his brain. “Hi, honey-bunny,” _Tony Stark_ said to Charles, giving Erik a challenging look.

Erik’s jaw dropped and he closed his eyes for several moments while he tried to process what he was seeing, so he didn’t see Charles glare at Tony and yank his hand away. 

“You’re dating _Tony Stark_?” He finally managed to say. He’d known that Charles was seeing _someone_ , but he had hoped it wasn’t serious. He also knew damn well that Tony Stark was Charles’ teenage fantasy. And, a billionaire genius philanthropist playboy. And supposedly straight?

Although Erik didn’t doubt that if any man could turn a straight man’s head, it was Charles. 

Charles started to respond, but Tony talked over him. “Oh, hey, it’s what’s-his-butt. You recognize me. That’s a timesaver. Wait, I know this...Charlie has mentioned you a couple times. You’re Ricky, right?”

“Erik,” Erik said through gritted teeth. Charles was looking back and forth between the both of them with wide eyes.

“Oh, right, sorry. Well, sorry for being late - had to lose some paparazzi,” he said with a wink to Erik. “Nice meeting you, Derek; and, my condolences on your loss.”

The man was so insufferably rude that Erik felt steam was about to blow out of his ears. Charles and Tony both suddenly looked around and Erik heard a few gasps behind him. He reluctantly turned around to see what the fuss was about and saw from the vibrating silverware on the refreshments table that they seemed to be undergoing a small earthquake. Rare, for New York, but not enough for him to take his mind off of the very soothing idea of pulling Tony Fucking Stark limb from limb. 

Charles winced. Erik and Tony both turned to him. “Are you alright?” Erik asked. 

“Do you want a drink?” Tony asked Charles.

Erik decked him.

The entire room turned to Erik in shock. He wasn’t sorry. “At least the earthquake has stopped,” he said to Charles with a small smile. He ignored everyone else.

Tony recovered quickly and gave him a very dirty look, holding his hand to his face, muttering about ice. He walked away. Charles watched him go with a odd look on his face. In fact, he appeared to be trying not to smile. 

“I can’t say I regret that. He deserved it,” Erik said finally. 

Charles sighed, but with a slight smile on his face. “I know he did.” He looked up at Erik, and Erik felt almost weak-kneed with relief that Charles was taking Erik’s attack on his boyfriend so casually. 

“Erik...what happened to Raven?” Charles whispered, pain taking over his features. 

Lorna came back over to Erik holding Kurt when she overheard Charles, a question on her face. Erik just took Kurt from her arms and indicated for her to stay. He told them both the story that he had recited so many times to different TSA agents at the airport a few days before. Both Lorna and Charles stared at him in disbelief. 

“So - do you think she had that flying sickness?” Lorna asked with a frown. “The one they’re talking about on the news?”

“Flying sickness?” Charles looked at Lorna and back to Erik. Tony had mentioned something about that, he thought. “I heard something about that recently; what is it?” Lorna knew all about it, apparently, and subtly slipped off to the bathroom while Erik filled Charles in on what the news channels had been broadcasting the last few days. 

“Apparently there’s this thing going around people who have flown out of JFK. Not all people, but I guess it starts with a headache and then - well, just weird shit starts happening, as far as I can tell. Some people have physical changes - like their hair will change color, or they’ll grow vestigial wings, or their skin will change color or texture - and some people claim they have abilities they didn’t before, like telekinesis, telepathy, that kind of thing.”

Charles was staring Erik in disbelief. “Telekinesis? Telepathy? That - can’t be true. That’s science fiction. No, worse--fantasy!”

Erik held a hand up. “After what I saw happen to Raven...I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Unka Chaw!” Kurt exclaimed suddenly, holding his arms out to Charles. 

Charles’ face melted. “Oh, Kurt. I...can I hold him, Erik?”

“Of course!” Erik transferred Kurt to Charles’ arms. Besides Lorna, Charles might be the only other person in the world Erik would trust to watch Kurt. In fact…

“Do you mind - holding him while I use the restroom?” He said to Charles. “I don’t get the chance to go by myself much these days,” he added with a small smile. 

Charles seemed to lose his voice for a second. “Oh, god, of course, take your time,” Charles said with a small laugh, a blush touching his cheeks. Erik briefly, affectionately, squeezed Charles’ shoulder and then went in search of the bathroom.

“How are you, Kurt?” Charles said softly to the toddler in his arms. 

“I want Mommy to come back,” Kurt said stubbornly. 

Charles took a deep breath. “Me too,” he said softly, still looking into Kurt’s eyes. It must be much simpler to be a child, he mused. Simple thoughts. Thoughts like _Unka Chaw came back so Mommy will too_. 

Charles got goosebumps all over his body as he realized: _That wasn’t my thought._ It was Kurt’s thought, but somehow it was in his head. And the boy didn't understand the difference between leaving and dying. How could he, at his age?

Charles thought about it for a moment and tried to put it in terms that Kurt would understand. "Oh, Kurt. Mommy's not coming back. She loves you very much and I know she would if she could, but she..." Charles grasped for the right way to say it while wondering if he was overstepping a boundary, and not wanting to bring up an afterlife because he knew that Erik and Raven had not been raising him with religious beliefs. "Mommy...it's sort of like she went to sleep, but she won't ever wake up."

Kurt's eyes widened and Charles realized he had just given the boy a fear of sleep. He sighed, feeling like a complete failure at being an uncle. It was probably for the best that he didn't have children of his own, he thought morosely.

"He's going to have a little sister," Charles heard behind him. He spun around, belatedly putting his other hand on Kurt so the toddler wouldn’t fly out of his arms. It was Raven’s friend Irene speaking to him. 

“Sorry - a - what did you say?” Charles asked, his brow furrowing. The woman smelled strongly of marijuana, not that he was one to judge. 

She blinked at him through thick glasses. Had she always worn those? Charles couldn’t remember. “Oh, sorry, it's hard to know how much to say. There is something I definitely should tell you, though - you have to trust him, even when he doesn't trust you.”

"What? Him - who? And what do you mean, a little sister?" Charles added as her first words finally registered in his brain. Both of Kurt's biological parents were dead, so she couldn't be right, but it was incredibly disturbing to observe her saying such outlandish things so calmly. Charles was trying to decide whether to ask for further clarification or gracefully extricate himself from the odd conversation when he was rescued by the handsome older man he’d seen at Emma’s side most of the night. The man gave Charles a wink as he led Irene away. 

“I think we have some things to discuss,” Charles heard him say as they walked away. 

Tony came back just then, holding a baggie of ice to his cheek. “Man, no wonder you broke up with that guy. He is a terror.”

“You were being ridiculous!” Charles hissed at Tony. “What the fuck was that anyway? I didn’t ask you to come to the funeral. I deliberately left without you, in fact!”

“What the fuck,” Kurt said solemnly from Charles’ arms.

Charles and Tony both looked at the toddler in Charles’ arms with wide eyes before Tony snorted and turned back to Charles. 

“You left without me - on purpose?” Tony said. His eyes flashed hurt for a moment before he looked away. 

_Oh, Jesus._ Being mostly sober was not helping Charles at all here. His head hurt like a motherfucker, for one thing. He had no idea what was going through Tony’s mind when suddenly he did.

_Just trying to help thought he hated that guy_

Charles stared at Tony. The content of his thoughts was suddenly not as interesting as the fact that _he’d heard Tony’s thoughts._

**

Shaw had gotten the hippie’s contact information and was very pleased. One new recruit for his biggest client and a potential client for himself, at a funeral no less. He should go to more funerals. 

He sipped his beverage and found his date. “How are you, my dear,” he murmured as he slid next to Emma.

“Honestly? Tired, and wanting this to be over,” she said, the tone of her words not matching the charming and hospitable smile plastered to her lips. “Are you having _fun_ , Sebastian? God knows why you wanted to come.”

“Fun, hmm, perhaps not,” he allowed. “But it turns out funerals are better networking opportunities than I’d thought. Tell me, why do you think the widower might want to hire me as an attorney?”

A tiny frown crossed Emma’s beautiful features as she considered the question. “Erik and I haven’t talked much in a while, but I’d guess he wants to formally adopt his son? He’s not the boy’s biological father,” she explained. “So with Raven gone…” she shrugged.

Sebastian eyed the boy from across the room. “They certainly don’t look alike,” he observed. The boy did look like someone he knew, though. It was tickling the back of his mind very annoyingly.

“His real father is dead, killed in a bar fight, apparently,” Emma said in an offhand way. “His name was Oz or Ax or something like that.”

It all slid into place in Sebastian’s mind. “That’s very interesting,” he murmured.

**

Erik lingered. He was waiting for Charles. Lorna was holding a sleeping Kurt, obviously physically and emotionally exhausted, but she patiently waited for him to be ready to leave. "I'll just--" he pointed inside. She nodded tiredly. 

Charles was talking in low voices with some of the mourners, reminiscing about Raven with the Frost Massage employees. Tony was nowhere to be be seen. Erik caught his eye and Charles politely excused himself from the group and came over to Erik. 

"I was hoping to talk with you more than we did," Erik said gently, forcing himself not to touch Charles. “I need to get Kurt home though.”

Charles' eyes seemed a little glazed. Erik thought with some concern that he'd probably been drinking. 

Charles shook his head. "I haven't been drinking," he said softly. "Although, honestly, I do want a drink. I have a terrible headache."

Erik blinked, a little confused. It seemed like Charles had responded to what he'd been thinking instead of what he'd said. 

"I...can't see you, tonight," Charles said then, looking suddenly distressed. "There's something I need to talk to Tony about. But," he swallowed and met Erik's eyes, "I hope--" he shook his head and broke off. "Sorry."

Erik ached to hold him. He didn't understand how they were not in each other's arms already. He loved Charles so intensely it was almost tangible. 

Charles took a step back, putting his hand to his temple, reeling. "I've got to go," he gasped, and almost ran out of the room. 

Erik watched him leave and fervently hoped that Charles was going to break up with Tony.

**

Charles felt an overpowering need to get away from other people, because even when they were quiet they seemed to be noisy. He went home slept for a long time. When he woke up late the next morning his head hurt more than ever and even though that made him want a drink he also felt that he needed to have his head clear for a while - he had been living in a haze, and he needed to think about some things. He got himself a big glass of water and went to sit on his balcony. He ignored the shakes and feeling clammy while he tried to focus on what seemed to be the biggest concern he had at the moment (although he had a lot): why he seemed to be hearing other people's thoughts. It was very disconcerting. 

Charles used his phone to catch up on all the news he could find about the disease that Erik and told him about the day before. He googled 'Flying Sickness', and he tried to find pictures of Raven looking 'blue' at the airport as everyone kept saying she had been (carefully avoiding videos because he didn’t want to see her getting shot), but all he found were a few blurry screencaps from cell phone videos that were shaky to begin with. 

Then he abruptly remembered what Tony had been doing the morning after they...the morning after Raven died. He was trying to give himself the flying sickness...perhaps he had accidentally given it to Charles?

Charles decided he that he needed to confront Tony about that just about the time Tony stepped onto his balcony.

"Hey," Tony said. Charles could hear Tony thinking he had been playing it cool by not coming over the night before. Charles wished there was a way to metaphorically put his hands over his mental ears. 

“I can hear what you’re thinking,” Charles said bluntly. It felt dishonest to keep talking to Tony without him knowing that. 

Tony’s eyes widened slightly. “Sorry, what?”

“It started a couple days ago,” Charles continued before he could second guess himself. “I’ve had a bad headache, too. It’s almost like I have the flying sickness everyone keeps talking about on the news, except I haven’t flown anywhere.” He looked up at Tony significantly. 

“You can hear what I’m thinking?” Tony said slowly. 

Charles looked at him impatiently. “Keep up, Tony. I think it’s because you built an airport security scanner in your living room.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “But I can’t hear anyone’s thoughts!” He sounded like a petulant child. 

“It’s not exactly fun being in constant pain and having to overhear people’s private musings,” Charles snapped. 

“The headache is supposed to go away after a few days, or weeks,” Tony said distractedly. “But, Charles, that’s incredible! What am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking about me sucking your dick,” Charles said, tiredly.

Tony nodded thoughtfully. “Cool, yeah, except that was kind of a gimme. Let me try something harder.” He thought about...Charles concentrated. He was curious himself to see what he could do if he tried, actually. 

Tony’s new thought was a more complex idea, definitely, and harder for Charles to grasp because there were concepts he wasn’t familiar with. “You are thinking about - the airport scanner you built, something about the way it works, blueprints…” Charles shook his head, frustrated. “A lot of it doesn’t make sense to me. I don’t have an engineering background.”

Tony was visibly excited. “That’s incredible! I was thinking of how I reverse-engineered the Stryker-tech airport scanner to build my own. The one thing I skipped…” Tony was suddenly a bit more subdued and slightly guilty. “I skipped the dampening shield. It didn’t seem necessary to me, but...that means you were exposed not even standing in the arch. Shit, Charles, I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Charles could feel the sincerity of that statement in Tony’s mind, but he also felt the envy, the wish that Tony could read minds, or teleport, or time travel, or--

“You want to be a superhero!” Charles exclaimed. He couldn’t help the amusement in his tone. 

Tony stared at him. “So? Who doesn’t?”

Charles shook his head, smiling. “I don’t. But it’s cute that you do.”

“Cute?” Tony gave him a smoky look and Charles saw that Tony’s mind had gone back to the idea of Charles blowing him. 

Charles grimaced. He said carefully, "Tony - you know we're - not together, right?"

Tony didn't reply for a moment. "Sure," he said after a few too many beats. "I know. But I thought we, might be, you know, at some point." 

It was an honest response, so much so that Charles closed his eyes. "No," he said firmly, but softly. "And while I understand that you were trying to help yesterday, in regards to Erik, it wasn't necessary. I can take care of myself."

Tony started to feel a little angry, but his face remained impassive. "Oh. Okay. Because when you almost killed yourself on this balcony a couple days ago it seemed like maybe you needed a little help."

Charles winced. He decided to try a different tack. "You don't want to be with me, Tony,"

Tony crossed his arms. "I think I'll be the judge of that," he said steadily. 

Charles looked at him helplessly. "You're not into men, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "Apparently I am."

Charles realized he needed to cut right to the chase. "How much interest do you have in touching my penis?"

Tony swallowed. "Ah. Um. Well, I thought maybe - I mean, you seemed..."

Charles sensed he was close to making his point. “Yesterday you couldn’t stop thinking about Emma’s breasts.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised in interest. “Is that the blonde who was organizing everything? Yeah, but, I mean, you saw her, right? She could turn a priest away from the cloth!” 

Charles pursed his lips. “She’s a bitch.”

“That’s not a problem if we don’t talk,” Tony said under his breath and then seemed to remember himself. “Is there some rule that I can’t like both men and women?”

Charles gave Tony a faint smile. He stood up slowly. "Tony, I won't say I shouldn't have let it happen," he said, standing in front of Tony. "Granted, the timing was horribly inappropriate…” Charles paused, looking at Tony fondly. “I appreciate everything you have done for me."

"There's a ‘but’, isn't there," Tony said, looking at Charles' lips.

Charles was about to say the 'but' when his phone rang. He was going to ignore it, but Tony nodded to it.

"That could be your 'but', right there," he said, with his quirky smile. "Besides, I don't want you to regret not answering your phone again."

"Point taken," Charles said with a quick smile and answered his phone. "Hello?"

"Charles?"

It was indeed Erik's voice, and Charles felt a swell of love at the sound.

"Yes, it's me," he whispered. Tony gave Charles a tight smile and walked off the balcony.

"I got a - I might need to - shit, I don't know where to start." Erik sounded incredibly distraught.

"Take your time," Charles said soothingly, even though he felt anxiety start to claw at his insides. 

Charles heard Erik take a deep breath. "I got a emergency subpoena to come to family court tomorrow. According to this document, Azazel Romanov is seeking custody of his recently orphaned son, Kurt Lehnsherr."

Charles gasped. "But he's dead!"

"That's what I thought too," said Erik miserably. "I plan to fight it, _obviously_ , but the attorney I had been planning to hire to help me adopt Kurt is the same guy representing the quote-unquote father. So I don't even have an attorney."

"I'll call Armando," Charles said immediately. Erik could have called him directly, but Charles knew Armando, knowing that Erik and Charles had broken up, would probably have reservations about representing Erik without Charles’ knowledge.

"Thank you," Erik whispered. "Would you - if it's not too much to ask - would you come to court with me too?"

"I thought that you said a family court judge wouldn't look kindly on you sleeping with your wife's brother," Charles said slowly. He hated himself instantly, throwing Erik's words back at him. 

Erik made a small choked sound. "I said that a long time ago. Please," he said. "I - don't know what I'll do if I lose."

Charles bowed his head, wishing Erik were here to touch. "Well. I suppose we're not sleeping with each other though anyway, though, are we?" he said with forced lightness.

Erik did not respond; all Charles heard was ragged breathing.

"Of course I'll come," Charles said, relenting.


	7. Court date

_“I strongly advise we try legal channels first.”_

_“I guess when one is a flyswatter, every problem looks like a fly, hmm? Greedy lawyer.”_

_“I assure you, any personal gain is my last consideration. And granted, this may not succeed. But it would be a lot easier than your idea if it does.”_

_“Well...he is a single man with an unrelated soon-to-be little freak on his hands. It’s possible he might even be grateful for our...intercession. We’ll try it your way, Shaw.”_

**

Erik looked so good when he arrived at the courthouse, showered and shaved and wearing a not-rumpled suit, that it was all Charles could do not to kiss him immediately. Charles was wearing the same suit he had worn to the funeral because he was thin enough that the rest of his suits just hung on him. When Erik saw him, the swell of _LoveWantGratitudeGuilt_ coming from his ex-lover made Charles almost wince.

“Thank you for coming,” Erik said, not taking his eyes off Charles once.

“Where’s Kurt?” Charles said, to distract himself from feeling lightheaded at the emotional onslaught. He’d had a couple shots of whiskey in his coffee that morning, just enough to keep him on an even keel. It did nothing for his headache, unfortunately.

 _WorryFearProtect_ leapt out of Erik’s mind at Charles. “Raven’s watching him--I mean, Lorna.” He looked mortified at the slip and Charles desperately wanted to hug him or hold his hand, but he refrained. They’d agreed that for the purposes of the custody hearing it was better if Charles just appeared to be Kurt’s uncle, not Erik’s lover. Which was...true, at the moment, although they both knew observers might not see it that way if they weren’t careful. Armando had told them it might be detrimental to their case if a judge thought Erik had been cheating on his wife with her brother, and, not knowing Raven, that is what most people would assume if they disclosed that they’d had a sexual relationship. 

For once, Charles wished he’d been more open with people about their previous living arrangement. Erik and Raven wouldn’t have cared - it was Charles who had insisted that as few people be told as possible, out of what he now regarded as some misplaced sense of propriety. 

“I know Armando said that custody is unlikely to be changed _immediately_ even if we lose, but I didn’t want to bring Kurt...in case,” Erik said. He seemed defensive of his choice to leave Kurt with someone else, but he didn’t have to be; Charles understood perfectly, even if he hadn’t been hearing Erik’s thoughts.

Which reminded him - he needed to tell Erik about this new mind-reading phenomenon as soon as possible, but he couldn’t here and now, about to enter the courtroom. Armando walked up to them. “Hello,” he said kindly, professionally. “Are you ready to go in?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Erik said. 

**

Neither Charles nor Erik could stop staring at the man seated to Shaw’s left. He was wearing a red turtleneck sweater under a bulky, long black blazer. He had long black hair which had been pulled into a neat ponytail. His eyes were blue and he had a deep vertical scar on one side of his face. His skin had a waxy, false sheen like he was wearing makeup. _Probably covering up tattoos,_ Charles thought. 

He was sitting stock-still, staring straight ahead. He had to be aware of Charles and Erik staring at him but he did not respond in any way; he did not so much as look at them. His facial expression didn’t change throughout the proceedings - he just looked blank. 

Charles could feel Erik’s despair and panic and frustration growing next to him because Kurt was the spitting image of the man, except for the scar. 

Armando had told them both to let him do the talking. Armando’s points thus far had been impressive: He stated that Erik and the boy’s recently deceased mother had had custody since Kurt had been born (and he pointed out that Kurt had been born prematurely, with all the additional care that entailed), whereas there was a death certificate on file for Mr. Romanov, so at a bare minimum a paternity test should be a prerequisite for any custody matter. Charles tuned him out after a while, trying to read something from the plaintiff’’s mind and not finding anything until he heard, _I wonder if the boy looks like me._ Once he had caught that thought, he was able to determine that the man wasn’t lying about his identity, he was or believed himself to be Azazel Romanov, but he also didn’t particularly want to be there. Charles puzzled on this for a while when the whole room suddenly paused and Charles realized the judge had asked Erik a question.

Erik hadn’t heard the question, apparently. He swallowed. “Would you repeat the question, your honor?”

“Would you be willing to enter into mediation with Mr. Romanov over the custody dispute?”

Erik looked visibly unsure. Charles could feel him fiercely fighting the idea of letting Kurt anywhere near the man, but he shakily said, “If that is what my lawyer advises.”

Shaw leaned over to Azazel for a moment, then faced the judge. “That won’t be necessary, your honor. My client is withdrawing his petition for custody.”

Charles’s jaw dropped, as did Erik’s. They looked at each other, almost afraid to be too happy. Did they just win? Charles opened his mouth to ask Armando and Armando signalled for him to remain silent. 

The judge even looked surprised. “Well then. Case dismissed.” And she banged her gavel. 

**

Just outside of the courtroom, in the hall, Armando addressed Charles and Erik together. “You heard the judge; the case has been dismissed,” he said. Erik grinned hugely and shook Armando’s hand firmly. Charles smiled too, but there was something about it that was bothering him. 

“Isn’t this...too easy? Isn’t it odd that as soon as he heard your spiel, he withdrew his claim?” Charles asked anxiously. 

Armando gave them both a cocky grin. “It’s just a testament to what a great lawyer I am!” He chuckled a bit, then sobered and lowered his voice. “Well. It’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened. If he actually wants what’s best for the child--which is the point of a hearing like this--maybe Romanov believed that Erik was a better parent than he would be after hearing me sing his praises.”

That rang true; in fact, Charles could feel that in Azazel’s mind, vaguely, when he reached for it. Azazel did think Erik was a better father than he would be.

Just then, Shaw and Azazel came out of the courtroom. Erik walked up to Azazel before Armando or Charles could stop him. Shaw put out his arm but Erik stopped about six feet away from the man. 

He just looked at him for a moment. They were of a similar height, although Azazel was slightly broader than Erik. “Why?” Erik asked, confusion in his eyes. He didn’t clarify if he meant "why did you try at all" or "why did you give you give up so easily".

Azazel did not say anything. He gave Erik a considering look, a look without the slightest fear or anger or sadness, then turned his back and walked away with Shaw.

Charles tried to read as much as he could from the man’s mind to pick up any clue possible about his mysterious behavior, but here was something...off about him. Charles couldn’t pinpoint it, but he seemed...on drugs, perhaps? Although the man clearly had thoughts, Charles was not able to sense more than the mildest emotions from him.

He really needed to tell Erik about this mind-reading stuff. 

“Do you want to press charges against the TSA, Homeland Security, or the agent who shot Raven for wrongful death?” 

Armando’s question caught Charles off-guard. Nevertheless, he instinctively knew the right answer, and he and Erik both answered simultaneously; Erik said “Yes” and Charles said “No.”

Both Charles and Erik looked at each other incredulously. “What would be the point?” Charles asked. “It’s not going to bring Raven back.”

“You don’t think people need to pay for their crimes?” Erik said, giving Charles a look of disbelief. 

Charles was about to respond when Armando interrupted gently. “Why don’t you guys talk about it and let me know. I’ll research the statute of limitations and get back to you on that.” Armando bid them both farewell after that and Erik and Charles were left together on the steps of the courthouse. 

“Maybe we could - talk about this more, over dinner?” Erik asked awkwardly.

Charles raised his eyebrows. “It’s not even four o’clock,” he pointed out. 

Erik held up his hands helplessly. Charles couldn’t help smiling. “It’s been a while since I’ve had your famous pesto,” he said almost shyly. Erik’s eyebrows shot up.

“You want me to cook for you?” He sounded - like he was afraid it was too good to be true, for the second time that day. 

Charles bit his lip. “If it’s not an imposition,” he said softly. 

Erik shook his head and smiled softly. “Never.”

**

They went grocery shopping for the ingredients together, which, after seven months apart, was both surreal and painfully normal all at the same time. Charles started to get the shakes in the store and although he tried to hide it from Erik, the other man noticed and frowned. 

Charles felt the question in his mind, the one he didn’t know how to form. “It’s from drinking,” Charles confirmed quietly. 

“Have you seen a doctor?” Erik asked, concerned.

Charles almost laughed. “No, I haven’t. It goes away if I have a couple sips.” Charles tried to keep his voice even, though it was painfully hard to admit to this to Erik. 

“That seems...dangerous.” Erik was wearing what Charles called his ‘stoic’ expression, but Charles could feel his mind and it was a tumult of worry, fear, and yes, disappointment--

Charles exhaled heavily. “I have to tell you something.”

Erik’s face was still neutral, but the fear in his mind spiked. He asked, casually, “Is this about Tony Stark?”

“What?” Charles was caught off-guard. It was kind of a relief, actually, to know that he wasn’t seeing every thought in Erik’s mind.

“I was kind of hoping you had broken up with him,” Erik continued casually. 

Charles smiled and shook his head. “Tony and I were never together.”

Blinding relief came pouring out of Erik, but Charles realized he needed to clarify something before it became a problem. “I mean, we did have sex once, um, well, twice. But we were never--” he broke off, because the distinction in Erik’s mind between Charles having sex with someone and being in a relationship was them was minimal. The relief was gone. 

Charles felt like a terrible person. He tried to tell himself he hadn’t been unfaithful to Erik but he _felt_ like he had, and worse, Erik felt like he had been unfaithful too. Neither man said anything else until they had left the store and were walking with their groceries back to Erik’s apartment. 

“I can hear your thoughts,” Charles said, apropos of nothing. He needed to figure out a better way to tell people this, he supposed. 

Erik gave him a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Not just yours, though, lots of people’s, although I can’t say for sure everyone. It started happening a few days ago.”

Erik just kept walking for a few minutes, contemplating the new information. “You can hear what I’m thinking right now?”

“Yes. I...I have been, since the funeral.”

A flash of betrayal from Erik, quickly smothered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t feel like I had a chance to tell you before now,” Charles said desperately. 

“It’s alright,” Erik said.

Charles noticed another something in Erik’s thoughts then that made Charles pause. “Wait - you - what?”

Erik smiled a little and brought a hand up out of his pocket with some coins. “Pennies are easy,” he said, floating one up in the air in front of them. “Other coins are harder.”

Charles’ mouth dropped open. “Erik, that is amazing!”

Erik felt smugly proud that Charles liked what he could do, then immediately self-conscious about having that thought, thinking Charles would hear it. Charles heard all of it, and smiled at Erik.

They reached the apartment. “Does Lorna know?” Charles asked as they got into the elevator. 

Erik shook his head. “It’s hard to know how to bring it up,” he admitted. “And honestly, I have only been able to exert any amount of control in the past couple days. For a while it was just that I would notice metal around me shaking or moving when I had...intense emotions.”

“You do have some very intense emotions,” Charles agreed. 

Erik looked at him, and his pupils visibly dilated. “When it comes to you, I do.”

The elevator arrived at Erik’s floor. Charles could feel Erik’s want viscerally and although a part of him revelled in it, it also filled Charles with shame for what would happen when Erik realized some of the other...symptoms Charles was suffering as a result of his alcoholism. He stepped out of the way to let Erik lead the way to his apartment.

**

Lorna was thrilled to hear that the case had been dismissed and was almost as happy that Erik had gone grocery shopping. Erik felt vaguely concerned that Charles had probably wanted a private meal, just the two of them, and Charles tried to tell him mentally. _This is better. I’ve missed Lorna and Kurt too._

Erik paused, startled; he’d been about to put a pile of basil leaves in the food processor. “Did you just--” he pointed to his temple. Lorna was in the living room, out of earshot. “I felt you, inside me.”

Charles couldn’t help but make a dirty joke of it. “Not exactly, but the night is young.” He grinned widely at Erik and his heart filled with joy to see Erik laugh and show his toothiest grin - the one Charles hadn’t seen in far too long. Not since before Raven had--

Guilt and grief swept over him so fast it was like someone flipping a switch. Erik saw Charles’ face as it happened. “Charles, what’s wrong?” he said, concerned. 

“I just - “ Charles was suffering some pretty bad alcohol withdrawal, but that wasn’t the problem. “We wouldn’t be here, laughing, if Raven hadn’t - died.” Oh, it was so hard to say the word. He shut his eyes and tried to feel the grief of missing Raven without drowning in it.

Erik was silent for a moment, focusing on meal preparation. “Did you know that Raven and I were in couples’ counseling?”

Charles made a sound that was half amusement and half disbelief. “No, and that seems - well, considering how your relationship worked - it seems odd.”

“Yes, and we thought the counselor would think so too,” Erik admitting, filling a pot with water. “But it was so hard after you left - Raven and I didn’t trust each other anymore. She knew I was hurting and that I wished I could divorce her and have full custody of Kurt and she got so defensive when I would hint about wanting to adopt Kurt - and honestly, for good reason. So I suggested couples’ counseling and...she agreed.”

“That’s surprising,” Charles said frankly. 

Erik huffed a short laugh. “Yes, I thought so too. I think the idea was a big joke to her at first - you know how she liked to shock people. The counselor was shocked for a minute, but she pretty quickly took everything in stride. We talked about you, a lot, but also about money, and Lorna, and Kurt, and our dreams for the future.” 

Charles just listened. He felt now that every memory of Raven was a thing to be treasured.

Erik continued. “So after four or five sessions, Raven and I were a lot of closer, more bonded. Not physically--well, I mean we weren’t--you know I would tell you if we’d been anything but platonic,” he said quickly. “But we understood each other better and trusted each other more. That’s when I decided I needed to ask her for a divorce.”

Charles thought maybe he hadn’t heard correctly. “What?”

“My fear about divorcing Raven, before, was that she would fight me for full custody of Kurt,” Erik said slowly. “I had a bad experience fighting with Magda over custody of Lorna. But I realized that if Raven and I parted amicably, if we trusted each other, joint custody would be tolerable. Not a perfect solution, but better than not having you.” He shot Charles a quick look, no more than a glance. “If you would still have me.”

“What did Raven say?” Charles asked, his heart fluttering. 

Erik didn’t respond for a moment and Charles felt regret swelling in Erik like a wave. “I never got a chance to talk to her about it. I decided this right before we left for Germany. I didn’t want to tell her until we were back here, preferably at our therapist’s office. But I had made up my mind,” he said looking at Charles sincerely.

Charles nodded, distracted. “I know, Erik. I can feel it from you.” He paused. “Do you know why Raven was calling me? She called many times and I…” Charles felt his guilt coalescing into a lump in his throat. “I never answered.” 

“She just wanted to talk,” Erik said softly, then added, “As far as I know. She was worried about you, and...I think now she was right.”

Charles smiled self-deprecatingly. “Am I doing so terribly?”

“You tell me, Charles,” Erik said gently.

Charles rubbed a shaking hand across his clammy forehead. “It’s pretty bad,” he admitted. “Tony is...well, honestly, not a good influence, at first. But it’s also possible that he saved my life at least once.”

Erik didn’t like hearing about Tony; Charles didn’t have to be a mind-reader to see how his movements became slightly more jerky when Charles brought up the other man. 

“How…” Erik trailed off. He wanted to know the extent of Charles’ relationship with Tony, even though he was afraid to hear and thought it might be inappropriate to ask. 

“Inappropriate, yes,” Charles murmured. 

Erik shot him a surprised glance. “Oh, I’m going to have to remember you can do that now.”

“Look at us,” Charles joked, happy to grasp on a change of subject. “Practically superheroes, and we’re just having a conversation and preparing a meal.”

Erik shrugged and remained focused on his task, but a tiny smile graced his lips. “Even superheroes have to eat.”

**

Dinner was heavenly, even considering Charles hadn’t eaten that much in the past six months at all, and what he had eaten had been pizza or take-out. Charles wished he could eat more of the pesto (he could feel Erik wanting him to eat more), but he was fighting a little bit of nausea from the alcohol withdrawal. He explained this to Erik mentally via his newly discovered way of pushing words into Erik’s mind so that he didn’t have to say anything to Lorna. 

He could feel Erik’s unhappiness that he was suffering at all.

“Do you want a drink? A small one?” Erik asked out loud. Lorna gave her father an alarmed glance. She surely knew Charles was an alcoholic; it hadn’t taken any of them long to learn that Raven told Lorna everything.

“I seem to recall you punching the last person who asked me that question,” Charles said lightly. 

Erik waved away his hypocrisy. “I hate to see you in pain. Have you seen a doctor, or…?”

Charles shook his head. “I suppose I should.” It was hard for him to contemplate. He had a lot of shame about his drinking, and especially the...other problem he was having related to his drinking. 

It was still early when they finished dinner, only seven o’clock. Charles read Kurt a bedtime story in Erik’s bed (where Kurt slept every night now) to Erik’s great satisfaction; Charles could feel waves of _love_ and _safe_ and _protect_ rolling off him. Then Lorna very un-subtly said she was going to watch TV in her room and disappeared inside. 

“She has a room?” Charles asked, before he saw the answer in Erik’s mind: that had previously been Raven’s room. Oh. Charles swallowed.

Charles went to the living room, feeling as he did so the heat of Erik’s hand on the small of his back. Charles suddenly realized how little Erik had touched him that day; in fact, that small motion was the first touch he’d remembered.

It was intoxicating. He turned slowly to face Erik, feeling the other man’s desire thrumming in him, although his face was carefully blank. He wasn’t going to make the first move, Charles realized. He was waiting for Charles to do it. 

Oh, god, Charles wanted to. He let his eyes rove over Erik’s beautiful face, his pronounced cheekbones, his deep-set green eyes, his strong jaw. _How does he get more good-looking as he gets older,_ Charles thought. It just wasn’t fair. He raised a trembling hand to Erik’s face and stroked roughness that had grown there since the morning.

“Do you want me to shave?” Erik asked, his voice thick. His facial hair was just long enough that it would burn if he was kissing tender parts, which he wanted to do. “I will, if you want.”

Charles shook his head regretfully. “No, I...we...we can’t.”

Confusion and disappointment crossed Erik’s mind. It hurt Charles to see Erik like that, and he made a snap decision that he hoped he wouldn’t regret. He squeezed Erik’s hand. “Give me a minute?” He was feeling too physically ill from withdrawal right then to do anything other than curl up and shiver. But he knew what he could do to fix that, as temporary a solution as it might be.

Erik nodded, hope blossoming in him. He sat down on the couch. Charles went to the kitchen and found what he was looking for in the pantry: a bottle of cooking sherry. He poured himself about a shot’s worth, tossed it back, and then stood feeling like a horrible failure for a moment before he had some water and went back into the living room.

Erik knew, Charles read it in his thoughts. He didn’t say anything, and he wasn’t even disappointed internally - just concerned. “I hate to watch you walk away, but I love it when you come back,” he said with a smile. 

Charles laughed and shook his head. “It’s supposed to be: ‘I hate it when you walk away, but I love to watch you go’,” he corrected, sliding onto Erik’s lap, straddling him and facing him. 

Erik was surprised but delighted that Charles had apparently changed his mind. “That too,” Erik said. Charles could feel the beginning of an erection pushing up at him through Erik’s jeans. He inclined his head and kissed Erik. 

Oh, it was like coming home. Erik knew exactly what he liked; exactly how much tongue to use and when to back off and how to move his hands on Charles’ back. 

Charles broke off the kiss. “It’s almost like you’re the telepathic one,” he murmured into Erik’s cheek. Erik smiled and began kissing along his jaw, headed for that spot at the juncture of Charles’ neck and shoulder that drove Charles so crazy. 

Erik strung a trail of kisses from the bottom of Charles’ ear down to his shoulder. Charles made soft noises of appreciation, stroking Erik’s hair and back. When Erik’s hands caressed Charles’ ass, Charles didn’t say anything, but when one of those hands started to slide over Charles hip to the front, Charles murmured, “No,” and pushed it away. 

Erik took the rebuke in stride, claiming another kiss as he slowly started to unbutton Charles shirt, pleasure blossoming in him when Charles didn’t object. Charles returned the favor, lifting Erik’s shirt up from the hem and running his hands along Erik’s smooth chest and shoulders in an appreciation undiminished by all times he had previously done the same thing. But when Erik reached for the button on Charles’ jeans, again Charles said, “No,” and pushed his hand away. 

Finally Erik pulled back. “I want your cock,” he said clearly, his eyes glazed with desire, his lips wet from kissing.

Charles just shook his head. He kissed Erik for a few more minutes and then whispered, “I want to give you a massage.”

Erik stilled, then smiled. He pulled back enough to look into his lover’s eyes. “You do? Feeling nostalgic?” Erik liked the idea a lot, Charles could tell. 

And Charles liked it because it would be easier to keep him out of Charles’ pants.

“Mmm-hmm,” Charles hummed. “Do you have a blanket you could put on the floor?” There was no bed available that didn’t already have someone sleeping in it, and the couch was not big enough for what Charles had in mind.

“Yes! One second.” Erik went to the linen closet to get a spare blanket; Charles could see his erection tenting out his pants. He brought the blanket to Charles and Charles spread it out on the floor. Erik stood by awkwardly, wondering if he should take off his pants, because Charles hadn’t wanted to take his off. 

Still on his knees from spreading out the blanket, Charles started slowly unbuttoning Erik’s button-fly jeans that he’d changed into after court. He looked up at Erik and saw lust clouding his features. Charles gently lowered Erik’s jeans so he could step out of them but left his magenta boxer-briefs on before indicating that Erik should lie face-down on the blanket. 

Erik was a little disappointed that his underwear were remaining on, Charles felt. “Someone could walk out here, you know,” Charles said in a low tone.

Erik’s mind grabbed onto that as the reason for Charles’ reluctance to disrobe him completely and Charles didn’t disabuse him of the notion. 

He began with Erik’s feet. He had massaged Erik several times while they’d been together, of course, and he knew Erik loved how strong Charles’ hands were. Every massage he’d given Erik had ended in sex (well, except the _very_ first one). He revelled in touching Erik’s gorgeous body, as he always did. There wasn’t a part of him that Charles didn’t find to be perfect, even if it was perfect because of an imperfection. He loved every inch of the man, he loved him inside and out. He wanted - no, he needed - to show that to Erik in a physical way.

He could tell Erik was getting aroused as he moved up the the backs of Erik’s thighs; could see Erik adjusting his hips to make room for his erection. He kneaded Erik’s ass firmly; that adorable little ass that was just the right size for his narrow hips. He straddled Erik to make rubbing his back easier and heard Erik groan at the weight. 

“Am I hurting you?” Charles asked solicitously. He knew he wasn’t.

“You’re still wearing your pants,” Erik grumbled.

“Yes, I am,” Charles said calmly, massaging Erik’s shoulders and leaning down so his chest pressed against Erik’s back as he did so. Erik made a small sound and adjusted his hips slightly.

“There’s a new massage technique I’d like to try,” Charles said to the back of Erik’s neck. “But you have to promise to keep your hands to yourself.”

Erik made a small noise of complaint but then said, “Whatever you want.”

“Turn over,” Charles commanded softly. Erik did and the drool-inducing erection filling up his boxer briefs was enough to make Charles want to chuck his whole plan out the window and just suck Erik off. 

But he had a better idea, and he stuck with that. “My new technique,” he said, after making sure Erik’s hands were laced behind his head, “is called ‘mouth-massage’.”

Erik’s mind spiked with anticipation. “Sounds fun.”

“Oh, it is,” Charles assured him. The ugly thought flashed across Erik’s mind that Charles had probably done this with Tony. “Only you,” Charles reassured him firmly, before beginning his quest to ‘massage’ Erik’s front with his mouth as thoroughly as he had massaged his back with his hands.

 _Telepathy does have its advantages,_ Charles thought smugly, as he monitored Erik’s arousal level telepathically to guide himself to where exactly he should kiss or lick or even bite. He started at Erik’s ankles and worked his way up, pressing languid kisses in a line up his shins and mouthing each knee. He took his time progressing up Erik’s thighs, interspersing some light nips as he felt Erik physically and mentally reacting. With a sly smile at Erik, Charles skipped his whole groin region when he got there and instead moved to Erik’s hands, kissing each finger individually, pushing them into his mouth and sucking each one off while gazing at Erik hotly. He then kissed his way up Erik’s well-defined (and currently trembling) arms to Erik’s shoulders and neck, where he scraped his teeth along Erik’s tendons, relishing the sound of his broken moans. Excruciatingly slowly, he moved his body over Erik’s and began kissing, nibbling, and licking his way down Erik’s chest from his neck, laving at the nubs of Erik’s nipples and nibbling each one gently before resuming his progress towards his ultimate goal. 

Erik’s flat belly was the last place Charles planned to finish the ‘mouth-massage’ before it became oral sex. Erik’s cock was clearly outlined by the cotton of his briefs, and there was a large wet stain where pre-come had been leaking into the fabric for quite a while. 

Still kissing Erik’s belly, Charles started to push down Erik’s underwear, still slowly, letting the fabric rub along the length of the shaft. Erik gasped and brought his hands to Charles’ head. 

“No hands, remember?” Charles breathed the words against Erik’s magnificent cock. 

“Even...for?...Okay,” Erik was barely coherent, his need to have Charles’ mouth on his cock blaring like a trumpet from his mind. 

Charles was not in a hurry. He wasn’t actually that worried about being walked in on because he could feel Lorna’s mind; she was absorbed in her television show with no plans to come out of the room anytime soon. So Charles took his time, and breathed hotly on Erik’s cock until the other man’s mind was a mantra of _touchmetouchmetouchmetoucheme_.

Charles licked a very tiny bit, right on Erik’s frenulum. Erik made a low groan and was using all his self-control to remain still and not grab Charles. 

“Good boy,” Charles said cheekily. He licked again, a little more firmly. Erik angled his hips a bit - it was practically involuntary. Charles began a pattern of licking and kissing every bit of Erik’s penis, much as he had the rest of Erik’s front, before he finally took the girth of it inside his mouth. He tightened his lips around the shaft and let it slide in and out of his mouth wetly while he vicariously enjoyed the intense pleasure Erik was projecting. 

He started a maintainable rhythm of moving Erik’s cock in and out of his mouth, making sure he was stimulating Erik’s frenulum with his tongue on every pass. Another idea occurred to him and he pulled off Erik’s cock long enough to wet his finger in his mouth while he enjoyed Erik’s flushed face and half-lidded eyes. Then he worked his hand inside Erik’s underwear (they would be stretched out beyond future use, probably), telegraphing clearly what he was intending to do, and he also sucked Erik’s cock back into his mouth. He felt a burst of excitement and approval from Erik and he penetrated Erik with his finger as slowly as he had done everything else, seeking the spot that would drive Erik out of his mind. 

He could feel from Erik’s mind and body tension that he was getting close. Moments after Charles’ finger found the spot he was looking for, Erik came with a loud groan and a clenching of his torso. He kept making the ‘ah, ah, ah,’ sound that was so beautifully familiar to Charles’ ears as he spurted into Charles’ mouth. 

Being conscious of how suddenly sensitive the head of Erik’s cock had become, Charles gently licked and lapped up every bit of semen--and there was a lot; _perhaps Erik hasn’t been masturbating regularly,_ Charles thought. He was so focused on what he was doing that he didn’t sense what Erik was planning until the other man had already flipped Charles on his back so their positions were reversed and he was starting to kiss down Charles’ torso. 

“No,” Charles said firmly, curling away from Erik. He grimaced when he felt the pain and confusion from the other man and for once in his life regretted that Erik was such a determinedly reciprocal lover.

“I just want to make you feel good,” Erik said desperately. “Please, Charles; what is it? Why don’t you want me to touch you?” 

“I don’t deserve it,” Charles mumbled, which he thought was true, but was also only part of the reason. 

Erik’s mind went absolutely still for a moment. “That’s--not true,” he said, but his mind had said “insane” and he didn’t want to say insane because he thought Charles might--

Charles put his hands on his ears, as if it would help. “I can’t stop hearing your mind,” he gasped, and to his shame, he was on the verge of tears. “I’m not trying to. I wish I could block you out!”

Erik didn’t get angry or offended the way Charles expected. Instead, his mind became - blank. No, not quite; Charles could faintly hear… _Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium, Boron, Carbon_...

“Is that better?” Erik asked calmly. The chant of elements still continued in his mind. 

“Actually, yes,” Charles said, surprised. “What - how…”

“I studied meditation years ago as a way to control my anger,” Erik said in a soft and even voice. “I was very angry as a teenager. I found reciting the periodic table to be very soothing. I still do. I thought if my mind was soothed it might be less intrusive to you.”

“You are a bloody brilliant man, do you know that?” Charles said weakly. 

Erik smiled down at him. Charles was on his back on the blanket, Erik on his side next to him, propped up on his elbow. “I’m not brilliant enough to know why I can’t touch you,” he said softly. 

Erik wasn’t going to let it drop, Charles could see. He could also see that Erik feared a number of different things could be causing Charles’ reticence: Tony, STDs, A lack of self-esteem. Charles shook his head miserably. “I can’t,” he said. “Please, Erik...will you let me...take this...at a pace I’m comfortable with?”

Erik was confused and a little hurt, but he nodded. He couldn’t stop mentally speculating on why Charles didn’t want to be touched and his thoughts were reverberating too loudly for Charles to ignore. 

“It has to do with Tony, doesn’t it?” Erik finally asked, unable to leave it alone. “Did he - hurt you?”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to quell his annoyance. “I need to go home now,” he whispered. At the flash of panic in Erik’s eyes, he added softly, “It’s not you, love. I need to change my clothes; I’ve been in the same suit since this morning, you know. And it’s currently my only suit that fits.” He smiled and ran his fingers through Erik’s hair to cover his white lie, because it was in large part the content and strength of Erik’s thoughts that were hard for Charles to deal with.

Erik gazed at Charles with soft eyes. “You called me your love,” he said.

Charles looked at him in disbelief. “Did you think I’d stopped loving you? Do you think I could _ever_ stop loving you?”

Erik gazed at Charles with love and relief and kissed him gently, sweetly, languidly. He pressed their foreheads together when they pulled apart. “I’m sorry,” Erik whispered. “I didn’t mean to rush anything. I just - love you so much.” 

Charles knew that. In fact, he felt like he was drowning in Erik’s love. He loved him back, of course, but he also had to desperately to push down the part of himself that said _You don’t deserve this man._


	8. The Doctor

_The evening of Tuesday June 5th through the evening of Wednesday June 6, 2018_

Before Charles left Erik’s apartment that night, Erik managed to extracte a promise from him that he would see a doctor the next day for some of his withdrawal symptoms. Charles was almost desperate to leave by the time he did because he found that he was again craving mental quiet. 

Charles wondered how long this flying sickness took to run its course, and if he should maybe see a physician about that in addition to his alcohol withdrawal symptoms. Charles suspected that his own mental and physical state might be contributing to how difficult it was for him to deal with the telepathy, but he didn’t really have a baseline to compare that to. It also occurred to him that he might have to learn to live like a hermit because he found hearing other people’s thoughts was extremely draining, especially Erik’s. Erik had a beautiful but intense mind, and the bright shining way that Erik conceived of Charles made him feel like a charlatan, not to mention it was overwhelming. 

Charles spent that night (mostly) blissfully free of other people’s thoughts, although he did occasionally pick up Tony sulking from next door whenever he got too close to his foyer. He thought it was would be interesting at some point to map out what his range was and what exactly he could do. Most of his interactions with other minds so far had been haphazard and unpredictable - he noticed emotions first, and he ‘heard’ people when he focused on them, but he rarely overheard thoughts, and some people - like Azazel - seemed hard to read at all. Charles was even less able to control it when he was drinking, but when he wasn’t drinking he was almost not able to function from the symptoms of alcohol withdrawal. 

That thought reminded him of his promise to Erik. Before he could contact a doctor the next morning, however, he got a call from one. 

"Charles? It's Hank. Hank McCoy."

"Oh, hello, Hank," Charles said, surprised at the coincidence; he needed a doctor, and here was one calling him. He wondered if this had to do with his new ability or if it was an actual coincidence. "What can I do for you?"

"Ah. Well. It’s hard to summarize, actually; I could use a second opinion on a genetic matter I’ve been working on in the research wing of the hospital. There’s...a lot more to it than that, but I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Oh.” Charles was, of course, intrigued. And, Hank was a brilliant geneticist and obstetrician; considering his fine mind, he probably knew something about alcohol withdrawal as well, or could at least refer Charles to a doctor who did. “Well, I’m too curious not to come.”

Hank chuckled. “Excellent. I’ll see you soon.”

**

“I should probably warn you; there’s a cadaver in the room we’re going to,” was the first thing Hank said. He started walking briskly, leaving Charles no choice but to walk faster than he was comfortable to keep up, as he had far shorter legs than Hank.

Charles swallowed. “I’ve been around cadavers before,” he said weakly. Although in truth it had only happened once, for one moment in one college class, around the time he realized that he wasn’t going to be a doctor no matter how fascinating he found the biological sciences. 

“Sorry,” said Hank, giving Charles a sympathetic look. “I would have told you more on the phone, but, well, I’m not supposed to be bringing in a consultant at all.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Hank continued. “Have you heard of the Flying Sickness?”

Charles nodded slowly, his stomach dropping. He was all but convinced that he had it, in fact. He debated whether or not to tell Hank this and decided he would keep it to himself for a bit longer. 

“It’s something people have been tracking for the past year or so in - certain medical communities,” Hank said under his voice as they walked briskly down multiple sets of stairs. “It was suggested that there is a genetic component, which is why I was brought in. I have the requisite experience with genetics, but, uh--” he flashed Charles a brief smile as he held a heavy door open for him, “--you have more.”

“Uh, well,” Charles said, surprised. “I’m flattered you would think of me,” he said finally. “How far down are we going, anyway?”

“All the way,” Hank said. He flashed his badge to a couple of _armed guards_ in the middle of the dimly lit windowless hallway they were in. The walls were gray concrete and the floors were an off-white institutional linoleum that Charles thought probably hadn’t been used since the 1960’s. The air was colder this far down in the bowels of the building, too...which Charles realized made sense if they were storing dead bodies down here.

“Oh, there’s no cell reception down here, so you might want to turn it off to save the battery,” Hank said.

Charles was beginning to doubt the wisdom of his coming to help Hank out, but he took the suggestion and turned off his phone.

Hank led Charles to a large room that was mostly empty, but Charles’ eye was immediately drawn to the human-shaped form covered by a sheet at the end of the room. Hank didn’t seem to notice the cadaver or Charles’ reaction, leading Charles directly to a computer and some lab equipment on the far side of the room. Charles hurried to join him. 

“What exactly is the Flying Sickness?” Charles asked. “I’ve heard that it starts with a headache, and then people develop strange symptoms.” That much he’d heard on that lawyer’s television commercials, and as much as the 24-hour news stations had experts on to speculate and analyze the horrible footage they had, they hadn’t contributed any more information that didn’t strike Charles as pure conjecture.

“That’s such a terrible name,” Hank said irritably. “Leave it to the media to come up with something so misleading. It’s not caused by flying at all. It was just that the only people who have it have travelled internationally recently, but it’s rare even among them.” 

“But, Hank, what _is_ it?” Charles asked insistently. 

Hank lowered his voice, even though they were alone in the room. “Well. I personally believe it is a congenital condition triggered by environmental factors. But I’m having some trouble testing that hypothesis, and that’s partly because the symptoms are,” he sighed, “all over the map. Physical changes, superhuman abilities, and very probably things we can’t even conceptualize. The symptoms seem to manifest inconsistently, at first; some things come on quickly or all at once while others take a while. Speaking very generally, physical changes seem to happen first and then abilities manifest later, or not at all. Nobody with the sickness, so far, has experienced any diminishment or ramping-down of their symptoms, but of course I only know about the five people who have checked into this hospital and were definitely diagnosed with it.”

The scientist side of Charles’ mind was engaging despite being rusty from disuse, already working on ways Hank could test his hypothesis before Hank had even given him all the information. Then, with a smidge of self-interest, he asked, “No diminishment? The symptoms - don’t ever go away?”

“Well, based on all the data I currently have, it seems to be permanent,” Hank said, looking for some reason abjectly miserable about that fact. 

_Permanent._ Charles tried not to let his panic show on his face. He tried to focus on the science problem, instead. “What kind of data have you gathered so far?”

“Well, before two days ago, all I had looked at was samples from Jane Doe over there. You may have seen her on the news, actually; she turned blue--” Hank stopped because Charles’ face had gone white. “Charles, what is it?”

“That’s Raven?” Charles said. The words came out as a wheeze.

Hank frowned slightly. “Your--sister? No, Charles, this woman is blue and covered with--” Hank broke off as the potentialities occurred to him. “Oh my god. What happened to your sister?”

“She was shot and killed, at the airport, Hank, when she _turned fucking blue!_ ” Charles felt like he was either hyperventilating or having a panic attack, or possibly both. He ran to the trash can near the door and vomited into it. He didn’t feel much better, afterwards, and he was shaking so bad that he wished he’d had a drink before he’d left home that morning. 

Hank offered him a handkerchief, his face pale and drawn. Charles accepted it and just tried to breathe for a moment and not think that his sister’s blue and scaly corpse was in the same room as him. 

“Charles, I had no idea,” Hank said earnestly, and Charles felt the truth of that from his mind. “I wasn’t told her name. Homeland Security commissioned a study of her, and as I said, I was called in because it occurred to someone that there might be a genetic component.” He looked at Charles for a long moment. “She doesn’t look like your sister at all,” he said softly. 

Charles put his forehead in his hand for a long time. “I need to see,” he said after several minutes had passed. He could see in Hank’s mind the image of the face he had seen, but Charles realized that he needed to see her with his own eyes. He had been avoiding it for a week, avoiding seeing anything but a blue blurriness, but he finally realized that he had to know what Erik had seen before Raven died.

Hank just nodded. “Just--her face?” He asked cautiously. 

Charles suppressed a shudder and nodded. He did not need to see the scaly and blue naked body of his dead sister, _god_...

Hank walked up to the shrouded body and carefully pulled the sheet back and down to her neck. Charles slowly approached. “She has red hair,” he said in surprise. Erik hadn’t mentioned that. As he got closer he held his breath a little, afraid of--a smell? Inhaling something that cause this disease? He decided that was ridiculous and forced himself to breathe normally. 

Her eyes were closed, but she didn’t look like she was sleeping. She looked...like a movie prop, Charles thought. She was...beautiful, in a way, but not in a human way. He was about to deny that it was Raven when Hank turned on an additional light and Charles saw it: the shape of his sister’s face, her rounded cheeks, the slightly almond shape to her eyes. He made a sound like a sob that wasn’t quite. 

“Erik said her eyes were yellow,” Charles said, as he tried to picture it. 

Hank nodded. “One of them has been removed, but you can see the other one if you want?” Upon seeing the look on Charles’ face in response to his words, he hastily added, “Oh god, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

“It’s fine, Hank,” Charles said weakly, “but please cover her back up now?” 

Hank nodded and pulled the sheet back into place quickly. 

Charles tried hard to focus, but his alcohol withdrawal symptoms in addition to the shock of seeing Raven’s body made that all but impossible. He needed to get through this and get out of here. “Tell me about your theory, Hank.”

“Um. Well. As you know, in a typical DNA sequence, G is generally weak, and a G following an A often shows a markedly decreased signal. However - in approximately one percent of the population, around base 130, G is far stronger than A. I’ve created a software to quickly check a DNA sequence file for that specific, um, let’s call it a marker. All of the people affected have this marker even though their symptoms are--well, as I’ve said--wildly different. But not everyone with the marker has symptoms.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “How large is your sample size?” 

Hank looked a little guilty as he answered the question. “About twenty-three hundred.”

Charles looked at him in surprise. “How did you get that many people to--oh, I see. Hospital patients.” 

“I only need a drop of blood to run my test, less than that, even,” Hank said defensively. “Once I had formed a hypothesis based on the cadaver’s--uh, sorry, your sister’s--DNA and the other six patients’ DNA, I realized I needed to see if I could find it in other DNA sequences. I only took samples from people who were already having blood drawn for other reasons.”

Charles sighed, “You don’t need to defend yourself to me, Hank; I’m not the ethics board. But that means you found - what, about twenty-three people with the marker?” The sample size was large enough that Charles knew it was statistically relevant.

“Twenty-four,” Hank said, looking suddenly more uncomfortable. “And I...have the marker.”

Charles raised his eyebrows at Hank. “And you are asymptomatic?”

Hank didn’t answer for a moment before he glumly said, “I was.”

Charles looked at his friend for a moment while Hank looked at his feet. Charles saw what Hank was thinking but said carefully, “I don’t see a physical change, so I am guessing your symptom is - something else?”

Hank sighed. “No, it’s physical. It’s just - really embarrassing.” He cleared his throat, his mind grasping for another subject. “I can check you for the marker, if you like, although the odds are you don’t have it.”

“I suspect I do have it,” Charles said quietly. “And I believe I have the flying sickness as well.”

Hank looked at him sharply. “Have you flown internationally recently, in the past eighteen months?”

Charles wasn’t ready to divulge his personal hypothesis about that to Hank just yet. “No, but you didn’t either, did you?”

Hank sighed and then groaned. “I fucked up, Charles.”

Charles tried not to be startled, but he didn’t think he’d ever heard Hank swear before. 

“I hypothesized that maybe some kind of electromagnetic field triggered the marker, but nothing happened on several of the first frequencies I tried, so I did a sweep down the frequency spectrum over several of the samples with the marker,” he said. “I was thinking I would rule it out more quickly as a vector, but it didn’t affect the samples at all. It affected _me_. And it didn’t occur to me that it would only happen on one specific frequency, so I didn’t track…” Hank squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m a terrible scientist,” he said, obviously close to tears.

Charles squeezed him on the shoulder. “Oh, Hank. Don’t be so hard on yourself; everyone makes mistakes.” 

“Yeah, but, now I’m deformed,” Hank snapped back, shrugging Charles’ hand off his shoulder. He pulled up his knee and whipped off his sock and shoe. 

Charles had actually seen Hank’s feet in his mind ever since he’d looked down at them a few moments before, so he was able to contain his reaction a bit. “Well, that’s splendid,” he said with slightly forced enthusiasm.

“It’s--what?” Hank had clearly been expecting a different and more negative reaction.

“It’s evolution, Hank,” Charles said, feeling actually genuinely excited the more he thought about it. “You have opposable thumbs on your feet. How could that not be an advantage?”

Hank looked...amazed. Charles could read in Hank’s mind that he hadn’t thought anyone would see an upside in this. He’d been considering surgical options and even crazier ideas to contain what he thought of as his symptoms. “There’s...a bit more,” he said shyly, and he abruptly did a backflip.

Charles literally fell on his ass in shock. He irritably wished his mind-reading was a little more consistent so he would know when these things were coming. 

Of course, his alcohol withdrawal symptoms were making balance difficult, so perhaps there had been more than one reason he fell. 

Hank chuckled and helped him up. “Sorry,” he said, still smiling a little. 

Charles smiled back. “I haven’t shown you my ‘symptom’ yet, you know.” He concentrated and tried to send a message directly to Hank’s mind. 

Hank’s brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What are you doing?” 

“Shh.” Charles tried visualizing words coming out of his mind and into Hank’s. He pondered for a moment what words to send and then realized that he had a message he needed to convey anyway. He put two fingers to his temple to press on the spot where he felt that his mind-reading happened. 

Hank startled. “You - are you - you’re - an alcoholic?” 

Charles smiled, pleased that he had gotten through. “And, apparently, telepathic.”

“Oh! Oh.” Hank blinked at him a couple times. “The flying sickness,” he murmured, “you do have it.”

“One illness is complicated by the other, I’m afraid,” Charles said, suddenly feeling that telling Hank he was an alcoholic in such a manner had been extremely inappropriate. 

Hank gave him a long look. “Why did you tell me - that?” he asked slowly. 

Charles swallowed and felt himself trembling more than usual. “Well, the funny part is, when you called me I had been thinking I need to call a doctor. I’ve been having some rather unpleasant alcohol withdrawal symptoms and I...um...wanted to see someone about it.” By the time he had finished, both men were red-faced. 

Hank cleared his throat. “That’s not really my area of specialty, but a good friend of mine here is an addiction medicine specialist, and she’s on the schedule for today - I can refer you to her when we’re done here?”

The nausea was coming back. “Probably I should see her and then try and help you, actually. I’m - not well, Hank.”

Hank nodded rapidly. “Okay. Sure, okay.”

Charles stood up and swayed, feeling dizzy. He recalled he hadn’t eaten much that morning, either, and what he had eaten had been vomited up. Hank grabbed his arm to steady him and led him out of the room and down the hall, past the armed men. Charles was very relieved when Hank led him to an elevator instead of back up the five flights of stairs they’d come down because he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t have made it without passing out. 

“Charles,” Hank said abruptly in the elevator, in a quiet but intense voice. “There are - people - whom certain hospital staff have been directed to notify whenever we have patients diagnosed with the flying sickness. I’m not going to document anything you’ve told me about your symptoms, and I suggest you don’t tell Dr. Munroe either.”

Charles saw in Hank’s mind quietly terrifying men in dark suits who flashed badges at hospital administration, demanding to look at hospital logs and charts, men who copied information and then left...and the hospital never heard from those patients again, even when they were called for follow-up. Charles felt clammier than usual. “But why would they - it’s not communicable, right?”

Hank only shook his head in response. He didn’t say anything else for a moment, then said softly, “You are the first person I’ve told. About me, I mean. Not even my wife knows. Nadia is…” he exhaled. “She’s terrified of the flying sickness. I don’t think she would react well.”

Charles ached with empathy for Hank. And now that Charles was looking for it, he could see in Hank’s mind that he was deeply terrified and trying not to think about it; Hank felt isolated and didn’t know what to do. A cold fear started winding its way through Charles’ mind, as well. What did those men want? What would they want from him, if they knew?

Charles put his fingers to his temple and tried to tell Hank the most comforting thing he could think of: _You are not alone, Hank. And if you need to tell me something you can talk to me this way._

Hank looked at Charles and relaxed, minutely. He nodded a bit. “Thank you,” he said in a low voice. 

_Thank YOU, for giving me the heads-up,_ Charles thought back. 

The elevator door opened then and Hank led Charles down a few more twisting hallways - although at least these ones were brighter and less ominous - until he reached an exam room. 

“Hang tight here; I will let her know,” Hank said, and disappeared. 

Five minutes later, Dr. Munroe walked in. “Charles, is it?”

“Yes,” Charles confirmed. He wasn’t really keen on sharing his last name but to his pleasant surprise, she didn’t seem interested in it. 

“Dr. McCoy told me you are having some alcohol withdrawal symptoms,” she said calmly, just like it was a regular illness. Charles liked her immediately. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

He shook his head, and the doctor proceeded to ask about his symptoms, recent alcohol use, and history with alcohol. Charles was honest with his answers, not trying to make himself look better or worse than he was. When she had gathered all the information she needed, she said, “Well, I can give you an injection of a Benzodiazepine; that should take care of the worst of it for the first twenty-four hours or so, and a prescription for some pills to take after that wears off if you still have symptoms.” 

Charles felt a great relief. This was exactly what he had been hoping for. Bless modern medicine.

“Charles,” the doctor added softly, “It would be dangerous and counter-productive for you to drink while you are on these medications. Do you intend to stop drinking?”

Charles nodded and said aloud, “Yes.”

She smiled at him. “I’m glad to hear that. I would advise you to get involved in a treatment program as well; perhaps AA, but there are other options as well. I will get some pamphlets for you.” 

Just before she left the exam room, Charles brought up what he had not spoken to anyone about. “Doctor - how long before I can--get an erection again?”

The doctor paused and turned to face Charles. “How long has it been since you’ve had one?” 

“I think six months or so?” 

Charles could feel that she was surprised by his answer but it didn’t show on her face. “Normal sexual function should resume within a few weeks after you’ve stopped drinking,” she said, her tone professionally neutral. “There are cases of permanent damage, usually when there has been a long history continuous heavy drinking. That doesn’t seem likely in your case if what you’ve told me is true,” she added reassuringly. “And while I’m sure you’ve heard of medicines like Viagra, I would like to wait before prescribing you anything like that for a few weeks. I suspect everything will...return to normal on its own.” She smiled at him, but Charles could feel the doubt in her mind. _Six months is a long time._

“May I have that jab now, please,” Charles said quietly, closing his eyes as another wave of nausea hit him. 

The doctor went to get it. 

**

After he had gotten a shot and pills and pamphlets, Charles realized that he really needed to eat something, right away. He wound his way to the cafeteria as he turned on his phone and waited for it to reboot.

When he saw that he had four messages from Erik, his heart started pounding. He listened to only the first one before he started running back towards the emergency room.

“Charles, god, why aren’t you answering...it’s Kurt. He’s blue again, I thought they took care of this when he was a baby...shit. I’m driving to the hospital now.”

The other three message were increasingly anxious messages along the same lines. Charles called Erik back just as he rounded a corner to see Erik yelling at a person in scrubs. 

“I want to talk to Dr. McCoy,” Erik shouted, spittle flying, his face red. “He said he fixed this when Kurt was a baby!” 

“We’ve paged him, sir,” The nurse said, with surprising patience. “He’s on his way.”

Erik was standing in the middle of a large room that contained many beds, each of which was separated by a privacy curtain. Most of the beds seemed to have patients in them and staff members dressed in scrubs were moving quickly by, mostly focused on what they were doing and trying to avoid Erik’s attention. Charles could tell which bed Kurt was in by reading Erik’s posture even if he hadn’t been a mind-reader. 

Several pieces of metal medical equipment nearby were shaking. _Erik, please, calm your mind,_ Charles said desperately. Erik’s head snapped to the side and he saw Charles before Charles was close enough to take his hand a few steps after. 

Erik did calm down, but only a little. The nurse took advantage of Erik being distracted to hurry away. “Why?” Erik asked Charles loudly. “Why should I be calm about this? Kurt’s life could be in danger!”

Charles made eye contact with Erik and used his newly-acquired trick of putting his fingers to his temple. _Because you are making metal things shake. People will know you have the flying sickness._

Erik held Charles’ gaze for a moment, his brow slightly furrowed. “So what?” he said, out loud. “Maybe they will take me a little more seriously if they’re scared of what I could do.” There was steel in his voice that Charles had rarely heard before. 

Charles tried to push the images he had seen in Hank’s mind to Erik: men in dark suits, asking mysterious questions, copying all the information on people with the flying sickness they could find, the patients disappearing. Erik looked incredulous, but not as concerned as Charles wanted him to be. “So you expect me to hide--” he began to say, when Hank rounded the corner. 

Charles squeezed Erik’s hand, hard, to keep him from lashing into Hank. “Hello, Dr. McCoy,” Charles said. “Thank you for coming to talk to us.”

Erik kept his mouth shut but it looked like it was hurting him to do it. 

Hank didn’t say anything, but he looked concerned, and he indicated that Erik and Charles should follow him. He led them to Kurt’s bedside a few feet away, a hospital bed separated from other beds in the room only by a hanging curtain. A nurse was sitting with Kurt, who was playing with a toy car. Hank indicated the nurse should leave with a nod of his head and she did so quickly. 

Kurt definitely looked somewhat blue, Charles couldn’t deny that. But he also didn’t seem to be in any kind of distress, playing happily with his toy car and running it over everything within his reach, making quiet “vroom” noises. 

Hank looked at Charles intensely, concentrating. Charles picked up on what he was trying to do and he put his fingers to his temple to help himself focus when he heard Hank’s voice in his mind. _I think it’s safer not to talk out loud. I want to show you something._

 _One second, Hank._ Charles explained to Erik mentally that Hank wanted to show them something but he didn’t feel it was safe to do so out loud. Erik pressed his lips together harder but nodded curtly. He turned to his son. “What’s going on with this car, anyway?” he said to Kurt with a forced smile.

Hank opened a folder and held an X-Ray up to the light. _This is an X-ray of Kurt from a few minutes ago. This is his coccyx, and there is a bone spur that is rapidly growing out of it._

It took a second for the significance of that to register with Charles. _He’s growing a_ tail _??_

Hank nodded. _He flew recently out of the country recently, didn’t he?_

_Yes, but...I don’t think he’s had a headache?_

They both looked doubtfully at the boy, who was giggling as Erik was driving the car over his belly. 

Charles’ could feel Hank’s reluctance to ask the boy out loud in case someone overheard. He looked at Charles thoughtfully. _Could you...ask him?_

Charles bit his lip. The first mind he ever remembered reading was Kurt’s, so he knew it was possible, but he felt odd about it for some reason. _I’ll try._

_Kurt, does your head hurt?_

Kurt looked at Charles in surprise. “Unka Chaw!” He exclaimed happily. “You talking to me inside!” Erik gave Charles a curious look.

That wasn’t an answer, so Charles put his fingers to his temple to see if he could find out a little bit more. He could feel from Kurt...happiness that Daddy was playing with him and wasn’t mad anymore like he had been driving to the hospital. Underneath that, Kurt wanted to know when Mommy was coming back. And, a spot in the middle of his lower back itched and ached sometimes.

“No headache,” Charles said out loud, forgetting himself, before he quickly resumed speaking telepathically. _I think he’s been feeling_ that _growing, though._

“Just say it out loud,” Erik said, losing patience. “I don’t know what you are so afraid of. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

Hank gave Erik a long hard look before saying quietly, almost in a whisper, “Your son is turning blue and growing a tail. He recently flew internationally. The only criteria missing for me having to diagnose this as the flying sickness is that he is not presenting with a headache.”

Erik’s mouth opened and then closed. He lifted Kurt up and handed him to Charles, then moved his hand down Kurt’s back until he felt the small protuberance at the base of Kurt’s spine. Kurt craned his neck trying to look backwards. “Ow,” he said stubbornly. 

Erik snatched his hand away and took a step back. Charles could feel self-recrimination rising up in Erik as he castigated himself for not noticing the bump earlier. 

“But his heart’s okay? His lungs?” Erik said, turning his head to Hank. 

“Yes, he seems to be - there’s nothing - life-threatening,” Hank said awkwardly. Charles read in the doctor’s mind that it was hard for Hank to call someone with Kurt’s symptoms ‘healthy’. “We could probably do surgery to remove the - bone spur, if you want,” He added, uncertainly. 

Erik looked at Hank for a long time. Charles sensed that his thoughts were in absolute turmoil. Erik looked at Kurt, who was starting to get sleepy and had laid his head down on Charles’ shoulder. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

“Not a problem,” Hank said, relieved. Charles could tell he had no idea if surgery to remove a growing tail was a good idea or not. 

Erik pointed to the X-Ray. “Do you have a better way to display that than holding it up to the light? I’d like a better look.”

“Certainly, there’s a lighted panel around the corner. I would normally show it to you on a tablet or a computer but--” he abruptly cut himself off, and Charles saw why in his mind: he was trying to keep them out of the hospital’s flying sickness red-flag system by doing things the old-fashioned way.

The fact that Hank was so anxious about the mysterious men was enough reason for Charles to be anxious, too. He wished Erik took the concern a little more seriously. 

Charles was curious to get a better look at the X-ray as well, so he put the now-sleeping Kurt down gently in the hospital bed and followed Hank and Erik out of the curtain and around the corner, just a few steps away. Hank made sure the corridor was clear and then snapped the x-ray into place. 

It was obvious even to an untrained eye that there was additional bone coming out of the base of Kurt’s spine. Erik sighed. Charles squeezed his hand. 

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Erik said finally. “I think we’d better go home now.” Charles could tell that Erik had satisfied himself that Kurt was healthy and now Hank’s concerns about the mysterious men were starting to creep up on him. He wanted to get Kurt home as soon as possible. 

“That’s a good idea,” Hank said fervently. They pulled back the curtain to reveal Kurt’s bed and it was empty. 

“Where is he?” Erik asked, immediately striding through the room and throwing other curtains back. Patients and hospital staff looked at him in shock and more than a few people exclaimed in dismay. 

“Where’s Kurt?” He demanded of Hank. “We were gone for _seconds_!”

Hank looked almost as panicked as Erik did. He shook his head rapidly. “No one should’ve known he was here,” Hank said under his breath. 

Erik grabbed Hank by the front of his scrubs. “Where is my son?” he roared. 

_Erik, calm down, please!_ Charles asked Erik desperately. The hospital beds were doing more than shaking - some of them were rising into the air. 

“I’m not going to to fucking calm down until I know where my son is!” He put Hank down roughly and scanned the large room. There were about a dozen people staring at either him or the metal fixtures that were suddenly shaking and moving. 

“Read their minds, Charles,” Erik snapped. “Someone in here saw something.”

Charles cringed at the way Erik was handling this, but he knew Erik had a point. He put his fingers to his temple and sought out each mind, scanning them each briefly.

_...aw, that poor man just wants his son..._  
_...those fucking freaks need to leave..._  
_...oh my god does he have flying sickness?..._  
_...is my bed rising in the air or are these just good drugs?..._  
_...I don’t care, just close the curtain, I’m cold..._  
_...the devil, I saw the fucking devil, he’s coming for me next..._  
_...we’re all having a bad day pal or we wouldn’t be here, shut up..._  
_...ooh, he’s hot - probably gay..._

Charles went back to the mind who was freaking out about seeing “the devil.” It was a patient, a thin young woman barely of her teens, with lanky greasy brown hair. Her thoughts were oddly fragmented, and Charles wondered if she was mentally ill or perhaps just on a lot of drugs. But she had a very clear vision in her mind of a red-skinned man with long black hair wearing a long black trenchcoat pushing past a curtain, and a barbed red tail following him behind the curtain like a thin red snake. She got a brief but clear view of his face and Charles saw piercing blue eyes and a long vertical scar on the man’s face. 

“Az,” he whispered.

Erik heard him and said nothing, but a white-hot rage emanated from him and every hospital bed in the room started rising, causing screaming and panic. 

_Erik, please don’t do this! We will find Az, but you are going to hurt someone if you are not careful!_

“I don’t fucking care!” He roared. He swept a hand across his front with his arm outstretched and a rack of medical equipment followed the path of his arm and smashed into the wall opposite. 

“Erik, calm yourself! This is not productive!” Charles shouted. _Count your elements, Erik. Hydrogen, Helium, Carbon, Potassium, Copper, Zinc…_

“...Lithium, Beryllium, Boron,” Erik corrected almost distractedly, before resuming the chant in his mind. _Carbon, Nitrogen, Oxygen, Fluorine, Neon, Sodium…_ It took him until “Molybdenum” before he was calm again. The people who had not run out of the room were staring at Erik in terror, holding on to whatever they could reach for dear life.

“You need to leave,” Hank said brusquely. _Someone will have reported this; the men are certainly coming._

“Let’s go, Erik,” Charles said tightly. 

Erik didn’t want to leave; he wanted to find Az and rip him limb from limb. But he numbly acquiesced when Charles put his hand on Erik’s back and led him away. As Charles marched him to the parking lot he was looking for the man around every corner. 

“That’s not what he looks like,” Charles said, under his breath. He pushed an image of Az with red skin into Erik’s mind. 

“He has the flying sickness,” Erik said, half a question and half a sudden realization. 

Charles felt jolted by the same realization. “I guess he was wearing make-up in court yesterday? Maybe he started looking like that, a devil - and then decided to fake his own death? It would be hard to be a part of society looking like - that.”

They reached Erik’s car, whose location Charles had plucked from Erik’s mind. Charles had taken a cab to get to the hospital, fortunately. 

Erik didn’t like something about what Charles had just said. “Kurt is going to be blue,” he said slowly. “He’s going to have a tail. He might even be covered with blue scales. Do you think that means he should fake his own death?” He said, as they both got into Erik’s car.

“Well, no, but it would be hard for him to live a normal life,” Charles pointed out. Then he remembered something. “Az couldn’t have had the flying sickness, or, at least he didn’t have it when he faked his death. It only started in the past eighteen months.” 

Charles realized that it was hard for Erik to focus because he was tied into a knot worrying about Kurt. He was trying to be calm because he recognized the wisdom that it wouldn’t help to be angry, but he was still having trouble thinking clearly.

“If it is Az that took Kurt, I think he’s probably safe,” Charles ventured to say. “He asked for custody of Kurt--”

“Yeah, now we know why he gave up so easily,” Erik growled.

“--so his motivation is probably not to hurt him, right?” Charles said gently. 

Erik exhaled, hard. He recognized the truth in what Charles said and it did soothe him on a level he was reluctant to acknowledge. “I just want him back.” His voice broke on the last word. 

Charles reached over to squeeze his thigh. “We’ll find him, Erik.”

“How?” Erik said, forlorn. “The only person I know connected to him is--wait! I have his attorney’s number. Something Shaw. He has to know how to reach Azazel.” Erik nodded to his phone. “His number’s in there; will you call him?”

Charles found the name “Shaw, Emma’s Attorney” in Erik’s contacts and called. Charles didn’t have high expectations that calling Shaw would accomplish anything, but Erik was beside himself about doing _something_ and Shaw did appear to be the only lead they had - without risking the men Hank was afraid of at the hospital. Charles was expecting voicemail and was caught off-guard when the man himself answered. “Sebastian Shaw, attorney at law.” 

He quickly tried to think how to proceed. Even if Shaw knew his client had abducted Kurt, he would certainly deny knowing it. 

“Oh, um, hello,” he stuttered. “This is, um, Erik Lehnsherr. Could I have contact information for Azazel Romanov?”

Erik gave Charles a long look and shook his head. _What are you doing? You should have given him a fake name and then asked for an appointment. Not to mention, he knows I don’t have a British accent._

Charles silently hit his fist against his forehead several times. 

The man on the phone paused and then chuckled lightly. “I’m sorry, _Mr. Lehnsherr,_ I’m not in the habit of giving out any of my clients’ confidential information over the phone.” His voice was insufferably condescending.

If he could meet with Shaw, Charles realized he could read his mind and see what Shaw knew about this. “Can we--I--meet with you, then? Today, if possible?” Charles tried to speak with an American accent and lowered the pitch of his voice a few steps. Erik snorted. 

“Ah, well, I suppose. Unfortunately I’m out of town at the moment; could we meet the day after tomorrow?”

Charles mentally relayed the information to Erik who hit the steering wheel in frustration. Charles knew he wanted to get Kurt back as fast as possible.

Charles made an appointment for Erik to meet with Shaw at 9am at Shaw’s office two days hence, on Friday morning. He could tell from Erik’s thoughts that he was already casting about for other ways they could try and locate Kurt. 

They were just coming in the front door to Erik’s apartment when it occurred to Charles. “Logan,” he said suddenly. 

Erik scoffed. “The bouncer? The guy who found a fake death certificate for Az? What is he going to do that we can’t?”

“It’s not his fault it was fake,” Charles argued. “I saw it, even if you didn’t; it looked real. Anyway, he is a licensed private investigator; he may have access to channels or information that we don’t. At least, contacting him is doing _something._ ”

Erik couldn’t disagree with that. He sat on the couch and put his head in his hands. 

Charles texted Logan and found out that he was working at the bar until 1am, but he would be happy to come by tomorrow morning. Charles paced. He kept feeling there was something he was forgetting, something else they could do. 

“Where’s Lorna?” Charles asked suddenly. 

“She went to see her mother, before I noticed anything about Kurt,” Erik said into his hands. “I think she might be a little upset with me about something. I should probably call her.” He sighed, but made no move for the phone. Instead, Erik reached up a hand to Charles with his head still down, the request clear. 

Charles sat next to him and put his arm around Erik’s shoulder. Erik turned to him and buried his head in Charles’ neck while Charles stroked his back soothingly. Charles realized he had not yet told Erik what had happened with Hank and he related everything, including seeing Raven’s corpse. Erik listened quietly, accepting Charles caresses gratefully.

“You’re not shaking,” Erik mumbled when Charles had finished catching Erik up on what Hank had told him.

“No,” Charles agreed softly. “I saw a doctor today; she put me on Benzodiazepines.” 

“So you’re not drinking anymore?” Erik asked softly. 

“No.” Charles said simply. He felt a rush of blinding love from Erik as the other man started kissing his neck with more and more intention, moving eventually to kissing Charles on the mouth, passionately, desperately. 

But...Charles wasn’t in the mood. 

He also knew Erik was hurting and wouldn’t take rejection well at this moment. 

He was also really, really hungry. 

Feeling guilty at the very idea but still curious enough to try, he snuck his hand up to his temple and tried projecting sleepiness into Erik’s mind. Remarkably quickly, Erik’s kisses ramped down and all of his weight was pressed against Charles. Charles gently extricated himself and looked at Erik sleeping peacefully on his side on the couch. He tried to rationalize his behavior but he couldn’t get past feeling that making Erik sleep was kind of a bad thing. Then he went into the kitchen to find some food.


	9. Logan

_Thursday June 7th 2018, morning_

Erik woke up at the time he usually did, feeling exceptionally well rested. That was unusual; Kurt had been having nightmares ever since Raven had died and--

Erik sat bolt upright as he abruptly remembered: Kurt was gone; someone had taken him. 

Just like Irene had said. 

Irene who had flown to Fiji; Irene who’d had a headache...

And - where was Charles? Erik felt more disoriented than usual. Why had he fallen asleep on the couch?

“Charles?” He called. There was no response. 

“Irene,” he said out loud, before he forgot. Raven’s cell phone would have her number. He had that; they had given it to him in a bag with some of her other possessions when he’d left the airport. 

He tried to remember where he had put the bag and he a vague recollection of throwing it in the back of his bedroom closet. He went into his bedroom and wasn’t completely surprised to see Charles passed out in the middle of his bed. Charles wouldn’t have left in him when he was in pain. He felt a swell of love for Charles, how peaceful and beautiful he looked while sleeping, his face relaxed…

“Too bright,” Charles mumbled and rolled over. Erik chuckled, amused for a moment, and then remembered what he had been doing. He dug into his closet and found the bag. Raven’s phone was there, but it was dead; he decided to make breakfast while it charged. 

**

He had a pot of coffee ready and was just frying up some potatoes when he felt a pair of arms snake around his waist. Charles pressed his cheek against Erik’s back as he embraced the taller man from behind for a moment. “‘Morning,” he mumbled, before going to sit at the kitchen table. 

It was exactly how Charles had used to greet Erik, every morning. Erik felt a ache of nostalgia before remembering - there was no reason it couldn’t be like that every day, from now on. Except without Raven. And possibly without Kurt. 

His happy glow came crashing down around him. “What time is Logan going to be here?” Erik asked without turning around. 

“9 o’clock,” Charles said, yawning. It was a little after seven. “I talked to Lorna last night and told her what happened with Kurt...after you, um, fell asleep. She’s at her mother’s. She said she'd like you to call her, but only if you feel like talking.”

Erik nodded. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag his eighteen-year-old daughter into the hell that was his world right at that moment, but he also didn’t want to leave her out of it. He decided he would call her after Logan left, but since she had the option of staying with Magda, Erik thought she should probably keep doing that.

“I remembered something that might be helpful.” Erik said. “Probably not, but it might be. You remember Raven’s friend Irene?”

“Mmm,” Charles hummed in the affirmative as he sipped his coffee. “She said something really weird to me at Raven’s funeral.”

Erik snapped his gaze to Charles. “What did she say?”

“She said…” Charles frowned, trying to remember. “She said--it was about trust. I should trust him even if he doesn't trust me, something like that?” He shook his head. “I was in a pretty bad place that day. It’s hard to remember.” He did remember that she said something about Kurt having a little sister, too, but he thought Erik might see a little too much into that so he decided to keep it to himself. 

Erik looked at Charles contemplatively, then turned back to the stove. "Do you think she meant me? Do you trust me?"

Charles didn't have to think long about that. "I don't know _who_ she meant. And of course I trust you.” Charles felt a tiny winding doubt about his own words as he recalled how Erik had reacted to Kurt being taken at the hospital, remembered seeing him throw the rack of medical equipment. But he did trust Erik. Of course he did.

Erik turned from the stove to give Charles such a genuine and beautiful smile that Charles wanted to take a picture and save it forever. "I trust you, too," he said.

Charles returned the smile, but it was a little strained when he recalled putting Erik to sleep the night before.

“What I was going to say about Irene, though,” Erik continued, unaware of Charles’ discomfort, “Is that she told me that someone was going to take Kurt from me,” he said. “This was a while ago; before you--left. Right before, actually. She also mentioned a headache and a recent trip to Fiji.” He gave Charles a significant glance. “Sound familiar?”

“So she has the flying sickness too,” Charles mused. “You think she’s--precognitive?”

“Well, I didn’t, for a long time,” Erik admitted. “I mean, I hoped she wasn’t, obviously, given what she had said to me. But Raven said Irene told her that you and I were going to raise Kurt.” He got goosebumps then. “Which will now be the case.”

Charles wouldn’t meet his eyes for a moment. “Have you talked to her recently?”

“No; her number is in Raven’s phone, which I started charging a little while ago. We could call by now, probably.” He looked at Charles curiously, wondering why he was deliberately not meeting Erik’s gaze. 

“Probably you should call,” Charles said, chuckling self-deprecatingly, “seeing as how I cocked up calling that lawyer Shaw so badly.”

Erik smiled, but he had to agreed. He dialed the number from his phone because he thought it might be pretty scary for someone’s caller ID to show they were receiving a call from Raven's phone if they knew her to be deceased. He got a message that the voice mailbox of the person he was trying to reach was full. He frowned. 

“Send her a text?” Charles suggested. Erik did, and they waited for a response while they ate breakfast, but nothing ever came. 

“I’m going to shower...would you...?” Erik said to Charles. He was sure that Charles could see his hope that Charles would want to shower with him, although he didn’t say it out loud. 

“I showered last night, actually,” Charles said lightly. Erik shrugged off his disappointment and went to shower by himself.

**

Logan arrived promptly at 8:55am and was all business. They had told him nothing on the phone earlier about why he was there, so they started at the beginning, or tried to.

“My 3-year-old son Kurt, was kidnapped from the hospital yesterday,” Erik said in an even voice. There was something about Logan that seemed different, though, and it was tugging at him oddly.

“Why was he at the hospital?” Logan asked, his notebook out and open, his pencil poised, even if it looked a little ridiculously small in his thick hands. 

“He had...started to turn blue,” Erik said awkwardly, looking at Charles for guidance, who nodded encouragingly. 

Logan nodded. “Breathing problem?”

“No,” Erik said flatly. “Apparently he was also growing a tail. The doctor thinks it’s the flying sickness.”

Logan gave Erik a considering glance and put his notebook and pencil away. “The flying sickness,” he repeated with no inflection.

“We actually know who took him,” Charles blurted, wanting to cut to the chase. “It was his--biological father, the man I asked you to find a couple years ago.”

Logan’s eyebrows raised. “The dead guy?”

“He’s apparently not dead,” Erik said tersely, with overtones of accusation aimed at Logan. “In fact, he tried to sue for custody of Kurt a few days ago.” 

Logan looked at him in disbelief. “That’s not possible,” he said slowly. “I saw the death certificate; in fact I know the doctor who signed--” he broke off abruptly. “Oh shit.”

“What is it?” Erik snapped, when Logan hadn’t spoken for a few seconds.

Logan scratched the back of his head. “This guy, Az Romanov, right? When you saw him, did he--look, ya know, different or anything?”

Charles and Erik exchanged glances and Charles spoke. “Different is one way of putting it. When he was seen at the hospital yesterday his skin was red and he might have had a tail.” 

Logan looked at Charles for a long moment, frowning. It was a while before Logan spoke again, and it sounded like every word was being reluctantly dragged out of him. “Okay. So. There’s a facility upstate that collects, uh, well, mutants. The doctor who signed Az Romanov’’s death certificate is, well, I happen to know he’s...affiliated with that facility.”

“What do you mean ‘mutants’?” Erik said with a frown. 

“The flying sickness,” Charles said quietly, in realization, thinking of what he’d discussed with Hank the day before. “It’s a genetic mutation; not really a disease at all.”

Logan was nodding. “Right. Exactly. If he’s a mutant, they’d want him. And with a highly visible mutation like that...it's not a stretch that they would fake his death to make sure no one comes looking for him.”

An ugly fear was coiling itself in Erik’s gut. He didn’t like where this was going and what it meant for Kurt. “How do you know about this facility?”

Logan didn’t reply for a long moment, before he said softly, “Because it was my home--well, more like my prison--for about a dozen years.” He held up one hand in a loose fist and Erik gaped as _knives_ emerged out of his knuckles. “I’m a mutant,” he said. “But I’ve been this way for a long time before there was anything called the flying sickness.”

“How did you - how did - when - “ Charles was barely able to speak with shock.

“I had an accident, long time ago,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “And after that, I--well. It’s a lot to explain, but...in addition to this, I also heal fast. Real fast.” Logan shook his head and sighed. “God, I haven’t talked to anyone about this in--I can’t even remember how long. I keep my head down. That’s the only way they don’t come after me. But if your son is a mutant…” he trailed off and looked up at Erik. “You need to get him back. They don’t have anything good in mind for him, believe me.”

Erik felt rage and anger and panic swelling in him all at once at the thought that someone wanted to hurt Kurt, and might be hurting him right now. The appliances in the kitchen started rattling and Logan said “What the fuck,” and grabbed onto the couch he was sitting on with both hands as he started to levitate as well. 

Erik could feel Charles telling him to calm down mentally but he was almost beyond reason. 

“I think we’re all forgetting that _his father_ took him,” Charles said loudly, over the noise coming from the kitchen. “He’s not going to let Kurt be harmed.”

The rattling slowed down a bit. _I’m his father,_ Erik projected to Charles. _But I see your point._

Charles inclined his head in a small concession to Erik. _My apologies,_ he thought gently. _I misspoke._

Logan eyed Erik warily. “You’re a mutant,” he said decisively.

Erik didn’t deny it. “I think--we both are,” Charles said haltingly, looking over at Erik. “Although we were calling it the flying sickness until you put another name on it. But I learned yesterday morning that about one percent of the population has a marker in their DNA. When that marker is triggered--my friend Hank is still working out what that trigger is, but it seems to be something related to electromagnetism on a certain frequency--then symptoms present themselves. And usually a headache, although Kurt doesn’t seem to have had one.”

Logan looked impressed. “That, uh, that makes a lot of sense,” he said nodding, lost in his own thoughts. “My accident in ‘32 was electrical.”

Charles gaped. “Did you say thirty-two? As in nineteen thirty-two?” 

“Yeah.” Logan abruptly grinned. “If we’re all mutants here, I might as well tell you: I’m pretty much immortal. I’m one hundred and twenty-one years old.”

Erik folded his arms and jerked his chin towards Logan. “Is he telling the truth?” he asked, looking at Charles. 

Charles had his fingers to his temple and was frowning and wincing. “It’s hard to tell - I can’t get a good read.”

“What do you mean, ‘get a good read’?” Logan asked suspiciously.

“My symptom--er, mutation. I can read minds,” Charles explained. “Well, some minds, sometimes. It’s not terribly consistent but it seems to be getting better. Except for you- there’s something blocking me.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “Well. Lucky me.”

“You’re immortal?” Erik said disbelievingly. “So if I stabbed you in the heart with a knife, you wouldn’t die?”

“No, but that’s a pretty fucking rude thing to do to someone who’s trying to help you find your son,” Logan said, his tone laced with warning. 

Erik held his hands up. “Just curious.”

“And you? Telekinesis?”

“It appears to be just metal,” Erik said. “And usually only when I’m mad.” 

“You’ve noticed my bones, then,” Logan said. Erik only nodded, already distracted by the part of him mind screaming that they needed to get to Kurt. Charles was confused by what Logan said about his bones, but he picked up enough of an explanation from Erik’s mind that he didn’t press.

“What happens to mutants at this facility of yours?” Erik asked. “What do they want with Kurt?”

Logan eyed Erik warily. “Seeing as how you’ve displayed a little bit of temper already, I don’t think you’re gonna like my answers. Try not to bring the building down, okay, bub?”

“I’ll do my best,” Erik said tightly. “Please, I need to know.” He started chanting elements in head, just in case. Charles squeezed his hand.

Logan was clearly reluctant to answer the questions. “I know that when I was there they were trying to make...super-soldiers. They look for mutants with abilities that can be weaponized. Sometimes there are - embellishments. Sometimes,” he said, watching Erik carefully, “It means some kind of lobotomy.”

Erik felt dizzy. He sat down. Charles had picked up the chant in his mind and was trying to buttress it even though he didn’t know the elements as well as Erik - the effect was just distracting enough that Erik managed to keep his abilities under control. “They would to that to a three-year-old child?” He whispered.

Logan looked miserable. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

Charles bit his knuckle and thought for a moment, staring at the ground. “If Az had been lobotomized, that might explain why his mind felt so strange,” he whispered. He looked up at Logan. “Do you know where the place is?”

“I do,” said Logan grudgingly. “But before you ask me, I’m not going there. I was lucky to escape last time. When they realized they couldn’t kill me, they tried to keep me locked away." He paused and Charles thought he was done speaking when he added under his breath, "They lobotomized me three times before they realized it wasn't gonna take."

Charles put his hand to his mouth in horror. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry--" 

Logan waved away Charles words. "I been through worse."

Charles couldn’t begin to imagine what would be worse than that. Then it occurred to him to wonder how those knives had gotten into Logan’s knuckles to begin with.

Erik sat back, thinking.“Is--the facility--made of metal?”

“Parts of it,” Logan acknowledged. “A lot of it is concrete. Probably that has rebar in it, but I don’t really know.” He looked at Erik a moment more before he added, tactlessly, “You may want to work on your control before you attempt to tackle them head-on.”

“We’ll take that under advisement,” Charles said sharply, as Erik struggled to keep his temper leashed in the wake of Logan’s comment. “Will you write down the address, or show us on a map?”

“Sure.” 

Charles opened the maps app on his iPhone and handed the phone to Logan. “You know how to use that?”

“This is the problem with tellin’ people my age,” Logan grumbled, using the app expertly to switch to satellite view and then zoom in on a part of upstate New York. "You assume I can't use technology. There. Dropped a pin on it."

Charles looked at the map in the satellite view and saw a non-descript gray square surrounded by trees. If there was an access road, it was shrouded by trees. 

"Is there a road?" 

Logan shook his head. "Everything is flown in and out, as far as I know."

“Logan, who are these people? Is this the government?” Erik asked, desperation coloring his voice.

Logan was quiet for a moment. “You don’t know how much time I spend tryin’ _not_ to think about--those people,” he said quietly before saying, louder, “The guy in charge is Stryker, William Stryker. Other than that, it’s goons and scientists. The only other name I remember is Dr. Essex. He’s the doc that signed Azazel Romanov’s death certificate. Maybe I should have thought more of it a few years ago when I found that death certificate, but honestly all I thought was that’s it’s better for everyone if Essex works with dead people instead of live ones.” Logan stood up. “That’s all I know, honestly.” He paused and then added, “Good luck.”

Logan started walking towards the door. Erik stood and stared after him, his brow knotting in consternation. He held out a hand, his fingers outstretched, and Logan abruptly stopped against his will. "I don't think you want to do that." Logan said, a warning in his voice, still facing the door.

"Erik, don't," Charles said, his eyes wide with alarm. "Logan has given us all the information we need."

“We’re going to need help,” Erik said, trying to stay calm but feeling his frustration manifesting into his ability as the small metal objects in the room started rising. “You need to help us break in.”

“I already told you, I ain’t going back there,” Logan said, unable to move, facing away from the other two men. “I’m sorry for your kid, I really am, but--I can’t.”

_Erik, let him go, please. Logan has helped us greatly; don’t ask for more than he can give._

After another moment, Erik released his hold on Logan and the man lurched forward a bit in compensation for the magnetic pull being gone. He walked towards the door and let his eyes slide over Erik but he gave Charles a tight smile as he left.

Erik and Charles stood looking at each other. “We need a plan,” Erik said. Focusing on that calmed him down a bit, putting some order to the chaos in his mind, so he wasn’t wondering what they might be doing to Kurt, this very moment…

“Focus,” Charles said softly. “I have some ideas, but I don’t think you will like them.”

“Tell me.”

“Getting there seems to be the biggest problem; I don’t have a private plane or helicopter. But I know who does.”

Charles didn’t know that many wealthy people anymore, so it wasn’t hard to figure out who he was talking about. “Tony Stark,” Erik said, bitterly. “You think he would lend that to you?”

“Well,” Charles said carefully, “Neither you or I is a pilot, so it may be a little more complicated than that.”

Erik crossed his arms and looked away. He didn’t like the idea of asking Tony Stark for any help rescuing his son, let alone asking him to pilot the plane.

Charles studied Erik with pursed lips. “I could also call Hank. Maybe Kurt or Az has turned up at the hospital. Someone else had to have seen him, besides the one half-crazy witness. How does a man with red skin carry a toddler through a hospital without being seen?”

“Yes,” Erik said, eager to latch onto a non-Tony-Stark-related avenue to pursue. “Call Hank.”

Hank answered on the fourth ring. “Charles?” Hank sounded out of breath and he was somewhere that echoed. 

Charles’ brown knitted in concern. “Is this a bad time, Hank?”

The man on the other end of the phone panted for a moment. “You could say that,” he said, his voice sounding deeper. 

“I’m sorry, I can call back later,” Charles said. “It’s just that we were hoping--”

“No,” Hank said quickly. “I--I’m sorry, I actually glad you called. I’ve--shit, I’ve made it worse, Charles.”

“What are you talking about?” Charles said in alarm.

“I wanted to find the frequency,” Hank said. “I should have waited for you, but...I had some new samples with the marker, but I--I didn’t--” He choked and Charles thought he might be crying.

“Please, Hank, I don’t understand,” Charles said desperately. He had never heard his former lab partner sound so distressed. 

“I don’t know where to go,” Hank said. “I don’t know where I can go. I certainly can’t go home.” His voice sound deeper somehow. 

“Can I--offer you a place to stay?” Charles said, finally grasping on something he could do to help. “I have at least four empty bedrooms in my apartment, Hank, I can certainly offer you that.”

“You do?” It was like he had thrown a rope to a drowning man. “Y--yes. Yes please. Um--I might also need a--ride?”

Charles glanced at Erik. “We’ll come get you, Hank. Are you at the hospital?”

“Yes,” Hank said. “Uh, come to the south entrance though.”

“We’ll be there soon.” He disconnected the call. At the question in Erik’s eyes he said simply, “Hank is--one of us. Since we need go see Tony anyway, we can bring Hank to my place. The hospital isn’t that far out of the way.”

Erik didn’t say anything, but he floated his car keys towards his hand. He gave Charles a smile and Erik felt a warm pulse of admiration from Charles for the display of his ability. 

“What was bothering Hank so much?” Erik asked as they stepped out the door.

“He didn’t say, but I have a feeling we’ll know soon,” Charles replied.

**

Charles called Hank again as they pulled up at the south end of the hospital. There were a lot of empty parking spots, so Charles supposed this entrance usually didn’t see a lot of visitors. It was also the farthest above-ground place away from the hospital lobby and emergency room. 

“Are you here?” Hank answered the phone. 

“Yes,” Charles confirmed. 

“I’m coming out, then. I--um--look different. Try not to freak out.” Charles was close enough to Hank’s physical location that he could pick up from Hank’s mind a bit about his appearance, and had a moment to prepare before a bulky man swathed in a blanket emerged from the hospital entrance. 

Erik tapped the horn and Hank made a beeline for the car. Erik saw a bit of his face before he was at the car and gasped, “What the fuck?”

_It’s Hank, Erik, don’t say anything. He’s very self-conscious about it._

Hank tried to grasp the rear door handle but was apparently having trouble navigating with his new paws. He growled and almost ripped the door handle off in his haste to get in, until Erik belatedly realized he could help and opened the door with his ability. Hank didn’t even question the door opening, he just climbed inside.

“What happened to you?” Erik exclaimed as Hank sat down. Charles glared at him but Erik shrugged. He figured people appreciated natural reactions rather than fake acceptance. 

“Experiment gone wrong,” Hank muttered tightly. 

“Well...you look pretty badass,” Erik said slowly, but honestly. Hank growled, but seemed slightly mollified. Charles could see he was wearing scrubs under the blanket, although they had to have been new because there’s no way the scrubs that fit his old lanky frame would fit the, well, beast Hank now was. 

“Thank you for picking me up,” Hank mumbled. “Sorry if I don’t seem grateful. It’s just been a really hard twenty-four hours.”

“That’s understandable,” Charles said sympathetically. He thought having telepathy was bad enough, but having a visible mutation would be unbearable for Charles. 

"Do you have any news on Kurt?" Erik asked. "Has anyone reported seeing a man who looks like a devil?"

Hank looked like he had absolutely no idea what Erik was talking about before he blinked a couple times. "Oh, your son is missing," he said, suddenly remembering. "I--I'm sorry, but I don't have any new information."

Erik pressed his lips together and did not respond. Charles could tell that Hank felt bad for Erik, but he was also traumatized and exhausted from staying up all night freaking out about his new condition.

“We can talk later, if you'd like to nap," Charles said softly. "We’ll be at my place in twenty minutes or so.”

Hank nodded, tiredly. “Thanks.”

**

Charles walked in the unlocked door of his apartment and indicated the hallway to Hank. “My bedroom is the first on the left; pick out any one of the other you want.” 

Hank’s jaw dropped as he stopped in the foyer. “You live here all by yourself? Charles, this is _huge._ ”

Charles carefully did not meet Erik’s eyes. “Yes.” He looked over at Hank, getting for the first time a good look at the blue-furred mutant in good lighting, without the blanket. He debated complimenting Hank’s appearance but thought that Hank would probably prefer just being treated normally. “There are towels if you want a shower, and I would offer you food as well, although I doubt there’s any in my fridge right now.”

Hank’s stomach made a loud noise and Charles felt a wave of embarrassment from him, which was fortunate because it was harder to read his facial expressions now. 

“I’ll order something,” Charles said decisively, “We could eat lunch anyway.”

“My new--um, I seem to require more food than I used to,” Hank said awkwardly. 

Charles smiled. “I’ll get a lot.” 

Hank went to shower as Charles ordered Mexican food to be delivered for them all. “We’ll go talk to Tony after lunch,” Charles said to Erik.

Erik snorted. “I’m not exactly in a hurry to do that.”

Charles wandered over to his balcony. There was still dried vomit on it, and he made a face and got a mop to clean it up. Erik watched without commenting, but Charles could feel a steady thrum of affection from him. 

“You like watching me clean-up vomit?” he said to Erik with a laugh. 

“I like watching you do anything,” Erik said simply. “I wasn’t able to for a long time.”

Charles himself felt a complicated tangle of emotions at Erik’s words. Resentment, that Erik had ever turned down Charles’ proposal in the first place; joy, that Erik was here now; guilt, because if Raven hadn’t died he wouldn’t be here. Erik had a clear expectation that he and Charles should be together now, and Charles found himself resisting that for some reason he couldn’t fully articulate, but it felt like the more Erik loved Charles the more trepidation Charles had about him. All he said was, “I wish I had a cigarette.”

“You used to smoke,” Erik said quietly, still watching Charles with a small smile on his face. “When you’d come over to my old place. You said it was to avoid drinking, but I always thought it was because you were trying to keep your mouth and hands occupied so I wouldn’t tempt you.”

Charles smiled ruefully. “Guilty.” Erik looked incredibly handsome in that moment that it was all Charles could do to keep himself from kissing him. He felt a swell of bright love from Erik and grimaced against it. 

“Why do you do that?” Erik asked, still quietly, but with an odd focus. “The moments when I feel the most love for you, you look like you’re in pain.”

Charles didn’t know what to say to that, but he was saved by the sound of the front door opening. “Sounds like lunch is here,” he said brightly, turning to go inside, only to stop immediately.

“Good timing, I’m hungry,” said Tony Stark, coming out onto the balcony. “What’s for lunch?”


	10. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sex depicted in this chapter is not intended to be condoned as healthy behavior. More explanation (and spoiler) in end notes.

_Thursday June 7th, afternoon, 2018_

“Do you always just walk in like you own the place?” Erik asked angrily.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Tony spoke in a deceptively casual manner, but Charles could feel some tension thrumming in his mind - along with an unmistakable desire to needle Erik. “Charles always leaves the door open for me.” He winked at Charles. “If you know what I mean.”

Erik’s anger flared red hot and Charles grimaced. This was not an auspicious start to the conversation they needed to have with Tony. _Erik, keep in mind that we need his help._

“You’re welcome to join us for lunch, Tony,” Charles said mildly. _But please, try to behave yourself._

Tony gave Charles a very interested look and Charles realized he hadn’t projected words into Tony’s mind before. “Well _that's_ a neat trick,” he said, looking at Charles appreciatively.

Erik pushed his way between Charles and Tony through the balcony doors inside, his mind a storm of black clouds. Charles quickly followed Erik even though he could feel that Tony wanted to have a private conversation with him about something. Charles could pick-up enough about what Tony wanted to talk about from his mind to know that it wouldn't be a good idea to talk about it now.

“Hey Charles, I’m sorry about your drain; I didn’t know I would shed quite so--” Hank was coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and stopped short when he saw Tony Stark.

“Hi,” Tony said looking at Hank, his eyes only slightly wider than usual. 

Charles was actually impressed that none of Tony’s inner freak-out was being displayed in the surface. “Tony, this is my colleague, Dr. Hank McCoy,” Charles interjected smoothly (if somewhat anxiously). “Hank, this is my neighbor, Tony Stark.”

“Tony Stark!” Hank stepped forward eagerly. He seemed to have forgotten his appearance for the moment. “I’m a huge fan! The medical applications of your arc reactor are so promising, I--” Hank suddenly realized what he looked like, and he hastily withdrew the paw he had been extending for a handshake. “Oh.”

“It’s always nice to meet a fan,” Tony said smoothly. “So you’re a medical doctor? I thought maybe you were a doctor in the academic sense, like Charles here.” Tony’s surprise at Hank’s blue-furred appearance was rapidly ramping down; Charles could tell he’d deduced extremely quickly that Hank had the flying sickness. Charles' respect for Tony Stark went up three notches. 

“Yes, I’m--a medical doctor, yes.” Charles would bet that Hank was blushing underneath his fur. “I’m a little embarrassed though, um, I didn't…”

“Well that’s understandable; nobody expects to run into their hero coming out of the shower,” Tony said reasonably. 

“You could have a _little_ bit of modesty,” Erik muttered. It was clear he didn’t mean Hank.

It wasn’t meant for Tony’s ears, but he heard it anyway, and turned to Erik. “Why?”

Erik just glared at him.

“I think I’ll...go get dressed,” Hank said slowly. Charles could feel both his confusion and pleasure at Tony’s reaction to seeing him as well as his discomfort with the tension in the room. 

The food arrived shortly thereafter, and the four of them sat around the table to eat it. "Mexican? Awesome," Tony said. "Although for really good Mexican food, you gotta go to Los Angeles."

Erik started counting elements in his head but did not visibly react.

"I'll take you sometime, Charles," Tony said, his eyes on Erik. "I have a private jet; we could--"

"Speaking of private jets," Charles interrupted anxiously, "I'd actually like to ask a favor of you."

Tony sat up straighter. "Name it."

"My nephew has been kidnapped," Charles said, carefully choosing words that related more to him than to Erik, as he could guess that would have more leverage with Tony. "I know where he's being held, it's a couple hundred miles north of here, but there is no road that goes there, so the only way to get there is by air."

Tony took in Charles' words, nodding. Charles expected twenty million questions, but Tony only apparently had one. He looked at Erik. "This is your son?" 

_So much for trying to keep Erik out of it,_ Charles thought.

Erik pressed his lips together but said quietly, "Yes. He's three years old."

Tony blinked at both of them for a moment and then said, "I think I have something that can help, next door. I can show you when we’re done here.”

When they had finished eating, they all stood up but Charles stopped as he remembered something. "Wait."

Tony was halfway out the front door, Hank right behind him. Both of them as well as Erik turned to look at Charles. He swallowed. "The last time I was in your living room, you had a--machine, or something, and I believe that is what caused me to, well, get the flying sickness. I just want to make sure that machine is not--on, right now, not functioning, and I honestly hope that it's not there at all."

Tony gave Charles a blank stare for a moment, then recovered. "Oh! Right! Yeah, you sorta walked into that the morning after we--"

Charles coughed loudly. 

"Nah, it's turned off," Tony said with a smirk in Erik's direction. "Although I don't think it gives you the flying sickness _more_ , you know. I think you either have it or you don't."

"I have to disagree," Hank said, "My personal experience is that the mutation can be exacerbated by repeated exposure to the trigger." There was bitterness in his voice.

Everyone turned to look at Hank, who had been quiet all through lunch. Tony cocked his head. “Explain.”

Hank looked surprised to have everyone’s eyes on him. “Well, until yesterday, I had only a relatively minor, um, manifestation, but I was experimenting and trying to find the correct frequency of--”

“--the electromagnetic field,” Tony finished excitedly. “Yes, I was doing the same thing! I didn’t have any results, so I don’t know that my experiments will be useful to you, but--”

“...You did have a bit of a result,” Charles pointed out quietly. “I only was in your living room briefly that morning, and whatever I was exposed to definitely affected me. I suppose something else might have triggered my mutation--err, flying sickness, whatever you want to call it--but I can’t think of anything that would have.”

Tony stared at Charles. “No. It must have been something else, because I wasn’t affected.”

“It can’t happen to everyone,” Hank said gently, no doubt hearing some of the frustration in Tony’s voice. “Only about one percent of the population has the appropriate DNA sequence that can be triggered into mutating.”

Tony blinked at Hank for a moment. “Ah. That makes sense.” His disappointment cried out sharply in his mind to Charles, but he didn’t let his show externally. “Well, Charles, if you want to be a super-mutant, let me know and I'll dig out the machine and find that frequency again.”

“No thank you,” Charles fervently. "I don't want to turn blue."

There was an awkward pause as Charles realized what he'd said. He turned to Hank. "Oh my god. I am so sorry; I didn't--" 

"It's fine," Hank said, although it clearly wasn't. "I wish I wasn't blue, trust me."

"It could just make you more telepathic," Erik mused. He was looking at Charles thoughtfully, and wondering what it would be like to have his own power expanded. Erik was envisioning himself demolishing buildings with a wave of his hand. He wouldn't even mind turning blue or scaly or furry if that was the trade-off, Charles could see, and the whole train of thought bothered Charles deeply.

"That's probably true," said Hank. Charles could feel that Hank was also curious to see how it affected Charles. Charles himself was desperate to change the subject.

"Tony, you were going to show us something at your apartment, weren't you?" Charles said quickly. 

"Oh sure, right this way."

The three of them followed Tony next door to his apartment. Charles' jaw dropped when he walked in the front door because the apartment was utterly wrecked. The living room had previously had a ceiling that stretched up about twenty feet, the same as the ceiling in Charles' living room, but now it went up about thirty feet, clearly because Tony had had the third level demolished - and not neatly. Crumbling drywall and concrete were visible and there was dust everywhere. 

"What the fuck happened in here?" Erik said, echoing what Charles was thinking. Hank was also bewildered by the demolition job.

"Hmm? Oh. I needed some more space," Tony said distractedly. "Okay, watch this!" He went into the middle of the room and dropped a red metal suitcase in front of him and looked at it expectantly. It did nothing. After about fifteen seconds, he frowned at it and kicked it, and then it...detached into different-sized metal pieces that appeared to crawl up his body. Charles and Hank gaped, and even Erik looked impressed despite himself.

Soon Tony was wearing what appeared to be a suit made out of red and silver metal. It seemed to cover every part of him except his face. 

"Well?" he asked, as if him wearing the suit was in response to a question someone had asked. 

Charles picked up enough from Tony's mind to ask incredulously, "Tony, is this the flying machine you were thinking about earlier?"

"Yes," Tony said, in a voice that could have just as well be saying "obviously." 

"How does it fly?" Erik asked. He was frowning thoughtfully at Tony in the suit.

"Well, basically I have an arc reactor in each hand and foot, so it takes a little balance - and you gotta have a nice strong core, which I do, because I work out - " Even Hank rolled his eyes at that - "But anyway...right now--I'm trying...to fly--" he grunted with effort, his body still, as sweat beads formed on his face. "I don't know why it's not working," he finally said, frustrated.

Charles had a suspicion, and when he glanced at Erik, it was confirmed - Erik was looking at Tony innocently, but his right hand, although down and mostly out of sight, was splayed and rigid in the gesture that Charles was beginning to recognize as Erik using his ability. 

"Erik!" Charles snapped, under his breath.

"Oh, should I let him go?" Erik asked in a mild voice, and then Tony shot up quickly. He almost crashed into the ceiling but managed to stabilize impressively quickly. 

"Well, that was weird," he said, coming down a little slower. "But anyway. Yeah. Suit flies. Although this is probably not the kind of thing you were looking for, and I don't lend this baby out."

"That's very impressive, Tony," Charles said, and he was honestly impressed. The deliberately demolished living room ceiling made a lot more sense now. "Really what we need though is something that can take one...or two people as passengers. Something fast and quiet."

Tony thought about it, still wearing his metal suit. "How about a helicopter with noise-cancelling rotors?" 

"That sounds perfect," Erik said despite himself. 

"Let me see about getting that for you, _Charles,_ " Tony said grabbing a tablet off a shelf and jabbing at it. "I have a prototype that I think is being stored relatively nearby. So what's your plan, anyway?"

Charles and Erik looked at each other. "Nothing really planned, yet," Charles admitted. "Figuring out how to get there was our first step."

Tony nodded, still jabbing at his tablet. "I think you should reconsider using my Stryker-tech knockoff over there to become a _real_ superhero.” He waved his hand very generally at the metal arch in the corner of the room.

“Did you say Stryker-tech?” Charles asked slowly, remembering what Logan had told them the day before. 

“Yeah. The company that makes those malfunctioning airport security scanners is one of my biggest competitors for government contracts.” Tony smirked, even as he continued to jab and swipe at his tablet. “I experienced more than a little Schadenfreude when they began to get the negative attention that they have because of the flying sickness. That security system installation took two years longer than it was supposed to, and apparently there were all sorts of problems with it.”

“Charles, are you sure you’re not interested in trying to expand your ability?” Hank asked curiously, walking up to the arch to look at it more closely. “If you don’t have any physical symptoms now, it seems unlikely that you would develop any.”

“I’m _not_ interested,” Charles said, a little sharply. “I can’t even imagine how my abilities would expand. They are already practically overwhelming. I have to be by myself in order to get any sleep at all.”

Erik looked at Charles in surprise and with a flash of comprehension. Charles gave him a tight, embarrassed smile. 

“Maybe your range would expand,” Hank said thoughtfully. “What is it right now?” 

Charles thought about that for a moment. “About thirty feet?”

“Maybe you would gain telekinesis, or mind-control powers,” Tony said eagerly. 

Charles couldn’t help but laugh. “You read too many comic books, Tony.”

“Are you saying you can’t do _anything_ like that now?” Tony pressed. 

Charles was about to deny it when he hesitated, remembering. “I actually can put people to sleep.”

“Who did you put to sleep?” Erik asked curiously. 

Charles licked his lips and did not respond, looking away. After a moment it was painfully obvious to all four men exactly who Charles had put to sleep. 

Anger and a pinch of hurt simmered under Erik’s skin, but he showed no outward reaction other than his cheek twitching.

“There are ethical considerations about giving any one person the kind of power that Tony is talking about,” Hank said thoughtfully, rubbing his big blue paw on his chin. “Power corrupts, even principled individuals.”

“I already said ‘No’, so it’s a moot point,” Charles said tartly. 

“I think I could handle it,” Erik said mildly. 

Tony barked his short, one syllable laugh. “Ha! No, I don’t think so, pal.”

“You don’t even know me,” Erik growled. 

“I know that you punched me in the face for offering Charles a drink,” Tony retorted. “That doesn’t seem like the action of someone I would trust with the ability to control minds or throw objects around.”

“I have to concur with Mr. Stark,” Hank said, albeit somewhat nervously. “I saw what your temper could do at the hospital, Erik. I don’t think expanded abilities are a good idea for you.”

Charles winced at the flash of rage from Erik at Hank’s comment. Had he always been like this? Charles wondered. Charles knew that Erik had had anger issues as a teenager, but for most of the time they’d been together Erik had seemed so calm--well, if not calm, at least controlled. 

“ _Expanded_ abilities?” Tony asked, looking at Erik. Jealousy roiled up in him, unpleasantly. “So you have it too? What is it you can do?” 

“Nothing that concerns you,” Erik said bitterly, fixing Hank with a glare that dared him to say anything about it. 

“Damn right, because you’re not coming near my machine,” Tony said adopting a belligerent posture. 

Charles began to feel very anxious about all the tension in the room, even if he was the only one feeling the full extent of it. “We should go back to my place,” he said as diplomatically as he could, looking at both Erik and Hank. “While Tony finds the helicopter he mentioned. We can talk about a plan there.”

“I’ve located it; it’s at my hangar in Boston,” Tony said to Charles, his eyes locked on Erik. “I can fly there in this suit and pilot it back here within ninety minutes.” His eyes shifted to Charles his expression changed minutely. “But there was something I was hoping I could talk to you about, alone, for a few minutes?” Tony said quietly to Charles.

“Anything you want to say to him, you can say in front of me,” Erik said stubbornly. 

Charles saw what Tony was going to say a split second before he did and his eyes widened. “Tony, no,” he whispered.

“Fine,” said Tony, remarkably undeterred by Erik’s words and seeming to not hear Charles. He turned to Charles. “What you said, before, I’m sure you remember, about your penis...I don’t think that was really fair. I mean, you really didn’t give me a chance.”

Charles put a hand over his face in absolute mortification. Hank’s eyes widened and waves of discomfort rolled off him. Erik walked over to Tony and stood entirely too close to him. “What the fuck did you say?” he growled. Various metal objects in the room were beginning to shake. 

“You’re not a part of this conversation,” Tony said to Erik calmly, poking him in the chest with the index finger of his metal gauntlet. “I had asked to speak with Charles privately, remember?” Charles could tell that Tony felt secure in his suit, but then of course he also didn’t know what Erik’s ability was. Or that Erik had already demonstrated that it worked against Tony’s suit. 

“You’re not going to get another _fucking_ chance--” Erik growled as Tony, to his evident surprise, levitated into the air, “--with Charles’ _penis_!” 

Charles screamed “Erik!” as Tony was tossed around like a red and silver metal ragdoll. Erik was waving his outstretched arm, his fingers splayed and rigid, his teeth bared. Tony smashed into one wall then another before he was slammed face-first into some of the exposed concrete leftover from the terrible demolition job. 

“Erik, _**STOP**_ ,” Charles yelled.

Erik froze and Tony abruptly fell out of mid-air, about fifteen feet. He landed as a splayed pile of limbs, unmoving. 

“Tony!” Charles exclaimed, going over to him. There was a bloody gouge on one side of his forehead. “Are you alright?”

Tony opened his eyes, slowly. “Well. I’m gonna have one hell of a headache, but I built this suit to stand up to that, and worse,” he said, not getting up off the ground, but rolling onto his back. “Although I now regret not wearing the faceplate.” He touched the wound on his forehead tentatively, then looked up at Charles. “Charles,” he said slowly and in a low voice, meant only for Charles, “This guy...well, ‘scary’ is putting it lightly. He didn’t know I would survive that, and I probably wouldn’t have if I hadn’t been wearing this.”

Charles felt horribly guilty for a moment, as if he was responsible for Erik’s actions, although he knew he wasn’t. He refused to look at Erik, who was standing very still about twenty feet away. And although Erik was for some reasons being outwardly quiet, too, his mind was still screaming and it took all Charles’ concentration to ignore him. 

Charles didn’t respond to Tony either, because he couldn’t argue with Tony and he had no idea what to say that wouldn’t sound like a defense of Erik. Tony sighed after a moment. “I’m not trying to cause problems with you guys, I’m honestly not,” He said, still quietly. “I just feel like he is going to leave you bleeding somewhere, someday.”

That, Charles had a response for. “He won’t.” He helped Tony stand up. “I’m going to get him out of here. Would you still retrieve that helicopter? For the child, if not for me?”

Tony sighed. He looked defeated. “Yes, of course I will.” 

Charles walked up to Erik. Erik was so angry he could barely speak, and all he did was stand there looking at Charles while his mind screamed _You did this!_

“I _did not_ fucking do it, how dare you,” Charles hissed at him. He gave Erik a second look as Erik was utterly frozen. “Erik, why aren’t you moving? Stop it.”

Erik sagged and almost fell. “ _You_ did that,” he said immediately and bitterly. “You stopped me. You paralyzed me.”

Charles stared at him, not fully understanding what he meant. “We need to talk,” Charles snapped. He walked out of Tony’s front door and into his own, leaving the doors open with the clear expectation that Erik would follow. 

“You froze me,” Erik said as soon as he walked through the front door of Charles’ apartment. Charles heard the lock click behind him and realized Erik had locked it with his power. He supposed Hank could entertain himself at Tony’s for a while. “You said ‘stop’ and I literally could not make myself move after that.”

“Well, if that’s true, it’s hard for me to feel bad about it considered you just tried to _fucking kill_ Tony Stark,” Charles yelled back at him after he got into the kitchen. He lowered the volume of his voice a little, but just a little. “That kind of violence is not justified, Erik. Tony is an ass but he didn’t deserve to be killed because of it.”

“He was disrespectful,” Erik growled.

“Disrespectful? To whom? Not to me,” Charles said vehemently. “He wanted to talk to me about a _private_ matter, something that had nothing to do with you, and you insisted that he bring it up in front of you.”

“He wanted to talk about your penis!” Erik responded angrily. “How does that not pertain to me?”

Charles made a noise of disbelief. “My penis does not belong to you, Erik.”

Erik made an impatient noise. “What? I didn’t mean--”

“You did mean that, Erik, you meant exactly that! I know, remember?” Charles tapped his index finger against his own templed several times, enough to hurt a little. 

“I didn’t want--” Erik hesitated. Charles could tell he felt off-balance, aware now that he may not be as justified in his actions as he had felt while he was doing them.

“You didn’t want him touching my penis,” Charles finished. “Yes, Erik, you’ve made that abundantly clear. But Erik, even if you and I were together, even if I had _cheated_ on you to fuck Tony, _even then,_ violence like that is unjustified.”

And Charles saw in Erik’s mind that Erik disagreed, and it floored him.

“You think it’s fine,” Charles whispered in disbelief. “You think that’s--a reasonable consequence? Well, it’s not, Erik! Violence only begets more violence. It doesn’t solve anything.”

“Jesus, Charles, don’t tell me you’re a _pacifist_ ,” Erik said, saying the word like it was an insult.

Charles shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. “Erik. God. I had this exact argument with Raven numerous time. I never understood how she could be so drawn to violence and violent activities...and you are the same. You told me you had anger management problems when you were a teenager - you didn’t tell me that you were just a gun without any bullets.”

Erik narrowed his eyes at Charles. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, I didn’t see you trying to kill people last week, before you had the ability to throw appliances around.”

“No,” Erik agreed, his anger still present, but simmering. “That’s because you didn’t see me at all last week. I was in Germany, fantasizing about how I was going to propose to you when I got back.”

Charles scrunched his face up as if he were in physical pain.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Erik demanded desperately. “When I love you--when I’m really feeling it, and I know you are hearing what I’m feeling - you cringe like I’m hurting you every time; don’t deny it.”

Charles sighed and tried to find the right words. “It’s not--you seem to think I’m doing it on purpose. It’s overwhelming, for one thing, and for another it’s...” Charles sighed again. “It’s not easy or simple to explain. Part of it is I know you think I should be falling back into your arms without question, but you are only available for a relationship again because my sister is dead; how do you think that makes me feel?”

Erik took a step towards Charles, reaching for his hands; Charles took several quick steps backwards, avoiding contact. Erik slowly put his hands down and stopped advancing on Charles. “I know it’s not easy for you,” he said desperately, “But I know you love me too. I know it, Charles, as well as I know anything.”

“But you didn’t choose me,” Charles said, hating the tears that sprang to his eyes, hating himself for bringing up and old and obsolete argument. “When I proposed, you didn’t choose me. You chose Raven.”

“I chose Kurt!” Erik yelled abruptly, and a swell of guilt and anguish rose in him as he desperately counted the hours that Kurt had been gone. He squinted his eyes against the almost physical pain he felt, thinking about his son, not knowing where he was or what was being done to him. 

There was a loud crash, as everything in the apartment made of metal leaped at once. Erik realized immediately and snapped at Charles before Charles could say anything to him, “I know, I’m trying, I’m trying.”

“I know you are,” Charles said quietly. He could feel Erik struggling to keep his rage under control so it wouldn’t manifest when he didn’t want it to. 

“I don’t think that I own you,” Erik said after a moment. “But I do think we belong together, and I’m frustrated that you are fighting that.”

“I don’t know that I agree,” Charles whispered, hardly believing he was saying the words, and yet also knowing they must be said. 

Erik’s hurt and disbelief struck Charles and he sighed. “There are more obstacles for us than you are willing to acknowledge or even aware of, Erik. I know you think you want me to raise Kurt with you. I know that. But there is so much that you and I do not agree on that you don’t even know, because I never said.”

“What?” Erik was confused and felt blindsided. “What don’t we agree on?”

“Well,” said Charles sarcastically, “Besides what defines the appropriate use of violence, and who has the right to my access my penis, we don’t agree on how to raise a child.” 

“A child--what--you lived with us, Charles, I don’t understand,” Erik said desperately. “You were raising Kurt as much as Raven and I were.”

Charles shook his head. “No. I wasn’t. I was ‘Unka Chaw’, and since you and Raven both seemed to agree on everything about how to raise Kurt, my input was not necessary or welcomed.”

Erik’s instinctive response was to deny what Charles said, but he forced himself to consider how the words could be at least partially true. “What input would you have given?” he asked carefully.

“Well, I think Kurt think should be going to church,” Charles said after a moment, with his chin held high. “And definitely preschool.”

Erik looked at Charles is disbelief, then looked around him and spread his arms. “Where did this come from? Why would I take him to church? I don’t believe in god and neither did Raven, nor do you,” Erik pointed out. 

“That’s beside the point,” Charles said quietly. “It doesn’t have to be a Christian church, but the community and socialization aspects of feeling like one belongs to a group of people are very important.” 

Eik stared at Charles for a full ten seconds before he scoffed. “That’s a ridiculous reason to join a religion.”

“And _that’s_ why I never brought it up,” Charles said pointedly, crossing his arms. “You and Raven wanted to do things just to be different from other parents; you both seemed to feel that ‘normal’ was a dirty word. Even when some of those ‘normal’ things have good reasons. Do you have any idea how...shut-out I felt?”

Erik, shocked, stared at Charles. “No, I didn’t,” he said quietly. “How would I know that, if you didn’t talk to me about it?”

Charles shifted uncomfortably, acknowledging Erik’s point.

“And why are you bringing this up now?” Erik asked. “Can we focus on getting Kurt back before we discuss how to raise him?”

Charles closed his eyes and swallowed. “Yes, of course. I just - wanted to give you an example of some of the things that I think about when I contemplate...what you want and expect from me.”

“I don’t have expectations--” Erik started to say when Charles interrupted.

“Yes you DO, Erik I see them in your mind with crystal clarity...sometimes so sharp that it hurts. You expect me to be--something I’m not. You have me--on a pedestal. I’m _not_ perfect. I’m not--” he swallowed the tears that wanted to come up, “--worthy of the--way you--” dammit!” Charles abruptly turned away as the words he had meant to say morphed into something else entirely. 

“Charles--” Erik started to say softly, but Charles could feel that he was going to say something unbearably sweet and tender and Charles couldn’t bear to hear it.

“Do you know when I fucked Tony?” Charles snarled, going on the offensive. “It was the day after Raven died. Is that an action of a ‘good person’? Do you know I tried to overdose? Do you know I thought about not going to the funeral because I just wanted to drink?”

“I don’t care,” said Erik, even though Charles could feel that he _did_ ; he felt the flare of hurt and jealous possessiveness that flared up in Erik’s mind at Charles words.

“You do, though,” Charles said with a sneer, not knowing himself why he was pushing the point. “You feel jealous of Tony and possessive of me. It hurts you that I wanted to hurt myself. Don’t forget that I know what you are thinking. I know _everything_ you’re thinking.”

Erik gritted his teeth. “Then you should know how hard it is to have a rational discussion with a telepath!” he shouted. “Yes, I have immature and ill-advised thoughts and impulses, just like I’m sure everyone else does. It’s not fair for you to throw them back at me!”

“Erik,” Charles said, with an unpleasant smile, “‘It’s Not Fair’ is our song, did you forget?” The smile faded and only the unpleasantness remained. “You think it’s fair trying to reason with someone who is essentially a superhero with a temper? I’ve been having to walk on eggshells around you to keep you from killing someone; I’m only surprised I didn’t have to put you to sleep or freeze you sooner.”

Erik’s rage started to boil over. “You have no right to do that to me,” he said, raising his voice.

“If you insist on violent behavior, you don’t give me much choice!” Charles shouted back. “It’s either that or...I’m done with you. I mean it, Erik. I won’t tolerate violence.”

“Don’t make threats you can’t follow through on, Charles,” Erik said in a low, dangerous voice, stepping closer to Charles, his fists clenched at his sides. “You really think you are going to leave me? For good? Look what happened to you last time. By your own admission, you almost died. You almost drank yourself to death. You almost overdosed. You _need_ me, Charles Xavier.”

“Fuck you!” Charles yelled, pushing Erik back, spittle flying from his mouth. “What I need is a fucking drink!”

He grabbed a bottle out of the kitchen pantry. Erik was breathing heavy and eyes were wide. Charles could tell that it was all he could do not to physically prevent Charles from drinking. “I thought you were on pills for that.”

“The pills stop the physical cravings, not the psychological cravings,” Charles muttered, going through his cabinets and looking for a tumbler. 

“But you’re not supposed to drink on the pills,” Erik said. An edge of desperation had crept into his voice. 

“There’s a lot of things I’m not supposed to fucking do,” Charles snarled, turning just his head and shoulders around so he was in profile to Erik. “Do you want a list?”

“Dammit, stop trying to hurt yourself!” Erik finally shouted, hitting the kitchen table. 

Charles stilled in his search at the vehemence in Erik's voice, facing the kitchen cabinets. Erik was right; he was trying to hurt himself. Knowing that didn’t stop that craving, though; a craving for escape, for a drink, to hurt himself, or for a fuck, or...something. He needed...pain. What Charles needed and wanted slowly dawned on him, a craving that felt as dark and twisted as he deserved. “Then you do it,” Charles said in a barely audible voice after a moment.

“What?”

“Hit me. Hit me, and I won’t have a drink.” Charles had turned around and was now facing Erik. He saw himself as Erik saw him: his eyes were wide and slightly unfocused, red-rimmed.

“I’m not going to hit you,” Erik said, clearly confused and more than a little wary.

“Fucking hit me!” Charles screamed and nudged Erik with his mind, a bit, dangerously taking a liberty that he knew was toeing a line with Erik. Erik’s right hand lifted and slapped Charles’ face seemingly of its own accord. 

“What the fuck, Charles,” Erik said, taking two steps backwards in horror. “Weren’t you just telling me how much you hated violence? What the hell are you doing?” Charles cheek stung where Erik’s palm had made contact with it and he relished the burn.

He eyed Erik, breathing hard. He could feel the warmth blossoming on his left cheek. “It’s not violence when it’s foreplay,” he said. He licked his lips, and Erik’s eyes snapped to the sight. 

Erik stared at Charles and Charles saw his face flush. “No, Charles. This is not a good idea,” he said. The surge of want that rose in him belied his words, and even if Charles hadn’t been reading his mind he couldn’t have missed Erik adjusting his posture to obviously make room for an erection in his pants.

“Hit me,” Charles said, walking closer to Erik. Any dignity he had left was gone, and he didn’t miss it. He wanted to be filthy and abused, for the punishment to match the crime. “Slap me. I’ve been horrible to you. Punish me.” 

Charles could feel Erik wavering on the brink of indecision and he sent some twitches to Erik’s hand to motivate him. “Fuck!” Erik yelled in frustration. Charles could feel his turmoil; his strong belief that _this is not a good idea_ battling his urgent, animal arousal. They’d had rough sex before, but it had never been in the context of an actual argument or amidst anything approaching the kind of emotional upheaval they had both been through that week. Erik knew intellectually that what Charles was asking for was not a hallmark of a healthy relationship, but then again, they were long past that, weren’t they? And from a purely physical perspective...oh yes, Erik could imagine too well himself fucking Charles brutally and not holding anything back. 

Erik lurched forward and grabbed one of Charles’ arms and twisted it behind him, and with the other he grabbed a handful of Charles’ hair. “Is this what you want?” He said harshly into Charles' ear, his voice entirely made of breath and gravel. Charles arched against him in response, rubbing himself against the obvious and protruding erection in Erik’s pants. 

“Yes,” whispered Charles, his eyes closed, his neck exposed. “Hurt me. I deserve it.”

Erik tried to think through the fog of arousal crowding his brain. “Okay,” Erik growled in his ear. “I’ll do it. I’ll...bruise you. I’ll--give you pain. But.”

Charles shuddered against him. 

“But in return...I want your cock.”

Charles froze and Erik watched his throat convulse as he swallowed. “Erik…” Charles started to say, but Erik bit his neck, hard, and Charles cried out.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Charles said, and Erik paused and then slowly started to release Charles’ hair and arm, until Charles said, “Wait. Don’t--stop. Okay, you can have--what you want. But…” Charles trailed off and turned his head so he was looking into Erik’s eyes, albeit so close it was hard to focus. “But I want to hurt.” 

“You will,” Erik growled, not knowing if it was true, hoping he could do what Charles needed from him--and hoping he wouldn’t go too far. He slapped Charles, then, with an open hand then, of his own volition, as lightly as he thought Charles would let him get away with. 

“Yes,” Charles gasped, his face even pinker than before even though Erik had not used much force. Erik shoved back Charles on the sturdy wooden kitchen table as some papers that had been there went flying. Surprise flashed across Charles’ face at Erik’s unexpected move, followed quickly by naked _want_. 

Erik stood between Charles' legs where they dangled off the table. He put his hand across Charles’ neck, only applying enough pressure to keep him down. 

“Safeword,” Erik rasped. His cock was so hard it ached.

“Fuck off,” Charles snarled, shoving at his shoulders. 

Instead of pushing harder, Erik backed off, his face shuttering. He blanked his mind. 

Charles wrapped his legs around Erik, pulling him close. “I can _make_ you,” Charles said bitterly. 

“Is that how you want to do this?” Erik said quietly. “If so, you might as well jerk off.”

Charles glared at him for a moment and then knocked his head back on the table. "Fine," he bit out, glaring at Erik. "Apple. Same as always."

Erik nodded and looked down at Charles. He lifted his hand off Charles' throat but Charles wrapped both hands around Erik's wrist to keep his hand there. Overbalanced, Erik fell forward and Charles bit his shoulder.

Erik swore and pushed Charles down, a little more roughly than he intended. Charles just smirked. "You promised me your cock," Erik reminded Charles.

"I didn't say I wouldn't make you work for it," Charles said, clenching his muscular thighs together so hard that Erik couldn't move. 

"Dammit, Charles!" Erik was still rock-hard, and he was salivating for Charles' cock, which he hadn't touched in far too long. He noticed for the first time that he was seeing images in his mind of himself choking Charles, himself fucking Charles, himself backhanding Charles and other images and realized that they were coming from Charles. He hesitated, not knowing if these were suggestions or random thoughts crossing Charles’ mind that he was accidentally projecting. He couldn't--wouldn't--do most of them, but he saw something he could do. 

Still caught in Charles' ridiculously strong thighs, Erik reached his arm out towards the cutlery drawers. He frowned and tried to ignore his raging boner to focus on what he thought - he hoped - he could do. 

The drawer shuddered open and Charles lifted his head with a curious frown. Several butter knives, spoons and forks floated up out of the drawer. 

Charles' jaw dropped. "What the--?"

Erik took advantage of Charles' surprise to turn and hold Charles' wrists spread and down on the table while he concentrated on making the metal utensils malleable enough to wrap them around Charles' wrists. Charles was writhing under him, not actually trying hard to get away but succeeding very well at being extremely distracting. 

"Hold still, dammit," Erik gritted out, putting his full weight on Charles. His own erection was pinched uncomfortably against Charles’ hipbone, but at least Charles had less room to move around. He got the utensils to cooperate finally and wrapped Charles' wrists and then shaped the metal to hook on the edge of the table. It wouldn't hold up long against a careful or determined escape attempt, but it was sufficient for what Erik was doing. 

Once Charles' wrists were held securely, Erik slid back so he was straddling Charles' thighs and unbuttoned Charles' pants. When Charles realized what he was doing, Charles bucked his hips frantically. Erik triumphantly pulled down Charles pants and underpants just as Charles gasped "Apple!"

Erik stopped immediately. "Should I free your wrists?" He asked.

Charles shook his head, which barely moved since it was turned sideways. His eyes were squeezed shut and Erik could feel Charles projecting waves of shame. 

"Charles, what is it?" Erik asked desperately, freeing Charles' wrists anyway. He reached up and cradled Charles' face in his hands. "Please, love, talk to me!"

"I can't," Charles choked. "I can't--get it up."

Erik didn't understand for a moment. Then suddenly he did. He leaned back and looked down and saw that Charles' cock was completely flaccid. 

"Are you happy now?" Charles choked. His voice was muffled because he was trying to press his face sideways into the table.

Erik had plenty of experience not being able to attain an erection in his first marriage. He knew the shame of it, but he also knew that the reason this was happening to Charles was alcohol and not because he wasn’t attracted to Erik. 

And he felt a possessive pleasure to realize that Tony had not been near Charles’ dick. 

"I will be," Erik said. "I haven't gotten it in my mouth yet."

Charles lifted his head and gave Erik a frowning, incredulous look. Erik put a hand on either thigh and licked the soft head of Charles' cock. Charles gasped and his hips bucked involuntarily in surprise. "I just told you, Erik, I can't--"

"When was the last time you tried?" Erik asked, before hastily adding, "Nevermind, I'm not sure I want to know." He licked again, firmer this time, swirling his tongue around the head after. 

Charles whimpered. "I haven't--in a long--oh my god, that feels good." He put a hand in Erik's hair, not trying to stop or guide him. 

"Then it seems to be working as far as I can tell," Erik whispered, before sucking it into his mouth. It was still soft, but sucking on a soft cock was a novelty and not at all unpleasant; it actually fit into his mouth better. He quickly found that he could suck it all the way in, easily, and undulate his throat around it by swallowing. Charles was moaning and rocking his hips, his fingers convulsing in Erik's hair when Erik noticed a little bit of encouraging swelling to Charles' penis. 

He pulled off slowly, feeling Charles' cock stretching and then bouncing and lolling against Charles stomach as he pulled back. "This is fun," he told Charles. "Good fit. I might just suck on it all day." He glanced up to meet Charles eyes and saw a glazed expression. "Do you think you can come like this?"

"I don't--maybe, I haven't--" Charles trailed off shook his head, then gasped as Erik slurped his dick back into his mouth. 

Erik was really getting into the rhythm of sucking on Charles' soft cock, first using his tongue to push back the foreskin and tongue the sensitive head and then letting his throat convulse around the shaft. He knew he wasn't imagining the the penis was gaining some girth--not enough to have penetrative sex, but hadn't gotten the impression that Charles was expecting to top today anyway. 

"Finger me," Charles suddenly gasped. 

Erik pulled off his mouth off Charles' cock with a wet sound. "But you hate fingers."

Charles lifted his head impatiently. "Did I fucking stutter?"

Erik gave his lover a pained look. "I'll need to get lube."

"Skip it," Charles urged, rocking his hips urgently.

"Charles..."

"Lots of spit, whatever, just please, now, Erik!"

Erik decided then and there that he would store all his lube in metal containers going forward. He put two fingers in Charles' mouth and sucked a little more on his cock while Charles made his fingers very wet.

Erik pulled his fingers out of Charles' mouth and started to penetrate Charles with a wet finger when Charles snapped, "Don't be so fucking careful, remember what you promised."

Erik bit his cheek inside his mouth but pushed both fingers into Charles a little more abruptly than his instincts told him was appropriate. Charles gasped and stiffened but his mind was chanting _Yes, yes, yes_ so Erik didn't let up until both fingers were in as far as they could go, then he started fucking them in and out of Charles, still sucking on his cock, which had reached at least thirty percent of an erection. 

“I need to fuck you,” Erik growled. He pulled his fingers out and hesitated, wondering if Charles still kept lube in the nightstand next to the bed. 

“Just do it,” Charles gasped. 

Erik considered. They’d had anal sex without no lube before, using only spit, but...the way Charles wanted it today, Erik decided that was not a good idea. He ran to the nightstand and found the tube quickly, then came back to Charles. He slicked up his dick quickly and roughly grabbed Charles’ hips to bring him into position before sliding his cock without further preamble inside Charles.

Charles hissed and clenched, his eyes shut, but his mind was still sending out waves of _hurt me, hit me, punish me_ so Erik started fucking him firmly, holding Charles’ hips tightly enough to bruise while he slid his cock in and out of the other man. 

“I love you so much,” he grunted, slamming into Charles. Charles’s eyes flew open in surprise at the sudden rough movement and at the words accompanying them.

“Shut up,” Charles snarled. “That’s not what this is.”

“That’s exactly what this is,” Erik huffed, sweating, his hips pistoning Charles’ ass almost viciously. “This is me--giving you--what you want--because I love you.”

“Hit me!” Charles screamed, tears forming in his eyes. 

Erik did, slapping Charles’ face again with an open palm. “I love you,” he said as he did it. 

Charles made a choked sound and Erik was ashamed to feel so aroused by the sight of the tears coming out of Charles’ eyes. “You can’t--make me--stop loving you,” Erik grunted, fucking Charles so hard he thought the table might collapse. “No matter--what you--think--of yourself.” He put a hand on Charles’ throat again, pushing down a little harder than before. “I love every dirty part of you.”

Charles bucked and writhed and that was Erik’s undoing. He latched his teeth onto Charles’ shoulder and he sank one last thrust deep inside Charles. He trembled as his cock spurted inside his lover and rocked his hips just enough to give a little friction and extend his orgasm a bit. 

When he came back to the world, Erik noticed that Charles’s penis was fuller and harder than it had been before, although it still wasn’t firm enough to penetrate anything. He withdrew his cock from Charles’ body and started sucking on Charles’ cock again.

“Oh god,” Charles exclaimed in surprise.

“You thought I was done with this?” Erik chuckled. “Not even close.” 

He slid the same two fingers inside Charles' now much more relaxed hole, seeking Charles' prostate. He knew when he found it because Charles said, “Aaahhhh,” and his eyes rolled up in his head. Erik kept his mouth enveloped around Charles' cock even as he massaged the spot inside him with his two fingers.

After several minutes, Erik’s jaw was aching and Charles cock was still not completely hard, but Charles began to make noises that indicated he was getting close, short sharp gasps interspersed with words of disbelief.

“Come for me, love,” Erik said desperately, because he didn’t know how much longer he could do this. “I want to taste you; it’s been so long.”

At Erik’s words, Charles’ back arched and then he was coming into Erik's mouth, even though his penis was only about half-hard. Charles let out a loud cry that descended in pitch as his orgasm went on. Erik swallowed the fluid without question, feeling more than a little smug that he had been been able to accomplish something that clearly not even Charles had anticipated would happen. 

Erik was not comfortable half-hunched over the kitchen table as he was, and Charles seemed half asleep. Erik picked up Charles in his arms bridal-style, ignoring Charles' sleepy protestations that he was too heavy. 

"You weigh nothing," Erik whispered, which wasn't exactly true, but he was still at least twenty pounds lighter than Erik had even known him to be before. Erik carried him to his - previously their - bedroom and went to get a washcloth for clean-up from the bathroom. 

"You made me come," Charles said to Erik, his face relaxed and his blue eyes shining, once Erik had cleaned them both up. "I didn't think I could." They were both lying on the bed, facing each other. 

Erik kissed the back of Charles' hand. "I'm very persistent," he said softly, "especially when it comes to making you feel good." Now it was Erik's eyes which were getting droopy. 

Charles was lost in thought, himself. He was happy that it seemed his impotence was a not-insurmountable problem. He still felt a little unworthy of Erik's love, but he deliberately tried to push those feelings aside because he recognized that they came from a bad place inside him, a place he didn't want to validate by recognizing. It actually also helped that he was now painfully aware of Erik's own flaws, at least as far as his lack of control of his ability when he got angry and his tendency towards violence. 

Charles let his thoughts progress as Erik's eyes fluttered close and his breathing evened out. Erik needed Kurt back - he was falling apart without the boy, and Charles tried to relegate to the back of his mind the completely irrational and immature pinch of hurt he felt that Erik had held it together a lot better without Charles than without Kurt. He was resorting to violence with alarming frequency and Charles was terrified that he would go too far and do something...unforgivable. Charles firmly believed that most if not all problems could be solved without violence, but he didn't know if he could trust Erik to reign himself in if they went to get Kurt together. 

Charles chewed his lip as he contemplated the idea that flashed across his mind. It wasn't a perfect solution, in fact it had elements Charles didn't like at all - but it would keep Erik safe from himself, and others safe from Erik. Charles reached out with his awareness into Erik's sleeping mind and encouraged him into a very deep sleep from which Erik wouldn't awaken until his body had an urgent need. Charles expected that would be at least twelve hours, maybe longer. He slipped out of bed and got dressed. 

He quickly cleaned in the kitchen (thought about burning the table, but just disinfected it instead) and then went to knock on Tony's door. It was early evening by that point, and the door was answered immediately by Tony. 

"Hi, Charles," he said cautiously, looking behind him for Erik. 

"It's just me," Charles said. "I came to tell Hank that - well, he can come over anytime he's ready to retire for the evening. I'd had the door locked, but it's open now." Charles' cheeks pinked a little as he realized he might as well have just said 'we're done fucking now.'

"Uh-huh," said Tony, his face carefully blank. "Well, if that's all--"

"Erik won't be treating you like that again," Charles added quietly to Tony. 

Tony looked at him for a moment. "Oh. Right. Charles, I'm fine; you don't have to worry about me. I was pushing his buttons kind of deliberately, really just to be an asshole." 

“Well.” Charles didn’t know what else to say that wouldn’t sound like he was somehow responsible for Erik’s actions. “I’m glad you are so...self-aware. I wanted to talk to you about something else as well, though; I have a plan now for rescuing Kurt."

"Ooh, exciting! Lay it on me." Tony seemed perfectly happy to drop the subject of Erik.

Charles took a deep breath. "Erik won't be going; it will just be me who needs a ride."

Tony's eyebrows shot up. "That doesn't seem like something he'd agree to."

"It isn't," Charles said quietly, holding Tony's gaze. 

Tony's quick mind figured it out quickly, of course. "Ah. So he's sleeping, is he? How long will that last? He's going to be banging down my door when he wakes up."

"I plan to be back before then," Charles said firmly. 

Tony looked at him skeptically. "O-Okay," he said slowly. "So can I ask what the rest of your grand plan is?"

Charles grimaced. "Step two involves me asking for the use of your device there." Charles eyes flicked to the reconstructed airport security scanner arch in the corner of Tony's living room.

Tony's eyes got wide. "No shit?" he breathed. "I'd better warn Hank; he's been really skittish around it."

Understandably so, Charles thought. He still wasn't absolutely sure that he wouldn't turn blue himself.

"Hey Doc, Charles is going to go for the deluxe superhero package!" Tony called upstairs to where Hank presumably was. "You may want to make yourself scarce."

"He _is_?" Hank came running downstairs to stare at Charles. "You are? What changed your mind?"

It would have been a long explanation, but Charles said it in one word. "Erik."

Hank blinked. "Well, that's surprising! I mean, he seemed--"

"He didn't mean it like that, Doc," Tony said distractedly, pulling the arch-shaped equipment into the center of the room. "Erik will be asleep for quite a while, and Charlie's going on a solo mission."

"Oh." Hank watched Tony setting up for a moment, and then seemed to remember what that meant for him. "Oh! I'll go next door to your place, then, as it seems I won't be disturbing Erik."

"You won't," Charles said faintly. “And the door is unlocked.” His gut was churning as he second-guessed himself. His vague plan of gaining more and better telepathic abilities and then going to the facility to persuade or negotiate for Kurt's freedom seemed doomed to failure at the moment, although it had seemed like a pretty good idea when it had occurred to him a few minutes before, when he'd been lying in bed next to Erik. 

"Ready to go," Tony said, obviously brimming with excitement about what Charles was planning to do. 

"Don't do this for Erik, no matter what, okay?" Charles said feverishly. 

"No way," Tony said reassuringly. 

Charles stepped into the arch while Tony fiddled with his tablet and muttered about frequencies. The machine was making a humming sound and Charles expected to tingle, at least, but he felt nothing other than...his headache finally went away. 

And then, he was rushed by sensation. The voices of millions of people inside his head; so many that each individual voice was indistinct. He put his hands on his head and tried to block them all out, it was too overwhelming, too much...

Charles eyes snapped open and he realized he had passed out and was on the floor. Tony was looking down at him anxiously. "Are you alright?" Tony said. _Poor kid. I doubt this is covered by my liability insurance. Good thing he's rich._

Charles could still hear the voices of the mass of people, but he also realized that he could _not_ hear them, if he concentrated. Tony helped him sit up. He slowly turned his head to look at Tony in slack-jawed and wide-eyed wonder. 

"I can hear everyone," he said softly, as a small trickle of blood came out of his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After their fight Charles insists that Erik have rough sex with (including slapping him a few times) or Charles will have a drink. Erik is reluctant about the rough part, not about the sex part, but he does it anyway. Very brief bondage.


	11. The Facility

_Thursday evening, June 7th, 2018_

Tony's helicopter with noise-cancelling rotors was almost disturbingly quiet, although it looked like a normal helicopter. It actually was big enough to accommodate five or six people, although only Tony and Charles were in it now.

Tony had explained to Charles that the flight would take about 45 minutes. They flew over buildings and then trees before either of them spoke.

“So, are you all-powerful now, or what?” Tony asked after they had flown in silence for about thirty minutes. "How much your range has expanded?"

Charles snorted. “Hardly all-powerful. As far as range, I seem to be able to reach about a couple hundred miles, I think?”

Tony looked at Charles with raised eyebrows. "Wow."

"Also, now, other people’s thoughts are - much clearer, much more vivid, and their minds are much easier to--” he tried to think of a nicer way to say it, but nothing came to mind, "--well, manipulate."

Tony considered that. “What does it feel like?"

“Um. Well.” Charles tried to think of how to explain it. “A few days ago, I usually didn’t sense anything from people unless I was focusing on them, and even then it was mostly emotions, words if I concentrated, occasional flashes of imagery. Now...I guess...it’s like I went from FM radio to HD television.”

“Man. So, you don’t have to rely on your talented mouth to get your nephew back.” Tony said it without inflection, but Charles knew him well enough now to know he meant the innuendo, even without telepathy.

Charles gave Tony a sidelong look with a rueful smile. “I already told you. I have skills and money to offer, and thanks to you, I am now able to...persuade people better than I was ever able to before.” And since he couldn’t resist, he added, “I doubt my stupendous cock-sucking skills will even be on the table.”

Tony smirked. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No,” Charles said, then admitted, “Maybe a little.” 

“Well, don’t stop, it’s good for my ego,” Tony said casually. He started to angle down as the building came into sight. Charles’ heart started to pound. 

“There’s a landing pad right in front of a door,” Tony murmured. “That looks like the place to go, hmm?”

Charles nodded, having suddenly lost his ability to speak as he wondered if what he had planned would really work.

Tony set them down, still in near-complete silence. Charles didn’t move after they landed, just sat there trying to work up his nerve. 

Tony glanced at him. “Can you reach the little boy - you know - with your mind?”

That hadn’t occurred to Charles. He gave Tony a surprised look and touched his temple, slowing lowering the mental shields he had put up in the city. He definitely heard minds inside. He searched out Kurt’s young mind, and smiled with relief when he felt the familiar toddler’s consciousness. 

“He’s here, he’s alive - he’s not hurt,” Charles was so relieved he almost had tears in his eyes. He withdrew from Kurt carefully, because he didn’t want the boy to notice him and say anything to any of the other minds Charles felt in the facility.

“There are other people in there, too, right? Can’t you just...mind-whammy them all from here?” Tony asked. 

Charles considered. “I--don’t think I want to do that without knowing the situation inside,” he said slowly. “Also, I haven’t tried that yet, and it may not work quite as you are thinking.”

“Some superhero you are,” Tony scoffed, teasing.

“If I can ‘mind-whammy’ them now, then I can do it at any time, right?” Charles said testily. “And being a superhero is your goal, not mine.”

Tony smiled, but it faded as Charles still didn’t exit the helicopter. “Do you want me to stick around?” Tony asked seriously. 

Charles shook his head. “I’ll call when or if I need a ride home,” he said tapping his temple significantly. 

Tony studied Charles’ face. It was clear he didn’t like Charles’ answer, but he nodded. “Okay.”

Charles exited the helicopter and watched it fly silently away. Tony had given him an explanation for how the noise-cancelling part worked, but Charles hadn’t really been interested enough to pay attention. Something about opposite frequencies. 

He walked up to the door, which was actually a pair of huge metal doors with no discernable handles. Charles banged on one of the doors with a fist and it barely made a sound. He felt frustrated until he noticed the small camera perched on the edge of the roof. 

“Please, I just want to talk,” Charles said out loud, helplessly, in the general direction of the camera. He hadn’t expected that getting in would be quite this hard. He suddenly remembered that he had felt minds inside and was about to contact one of them when there was a popping sound and a man with a red face and hands materialized in front of him. 

Charles yelled and took a step back. “What the--how--what...” Charles trailed off as the man stood there looking at him calmly. “Az,” Charles whispered. 

The man’s eyebrow twitched. “You were in court,” he said. 

Charles nodded, rapidly recovering. “Yes. Um. My name is Charles Xavier, and I believe my nephew--Kurt--is being held at this facility.” He was trying to read Az’s mind, but it seemed to be curiously...one-dimensional. He frowned.

Az regarded him steadily, with barely a thought flickering through his mind. “What makes you think he’s here?”

He had already decided that although he planned to tell as much of the truth as possible, he would not mention Logan. “Well. You were seen abducting him, and, well, I felt him.” Charles tapped his head. “I have contracted that flying sickness and I have recently begun to read minds.” It was a part of Charles’ strategy to show the people here his value as soon as possible, just in case they were planning to lobotomize him and ask questions later. 

Az just blinked at him. 

“It seems you have contracted it as well,” Charles continued, a little nervously. “I mean, that’s my guess. You seem to have--”

Azazel disappeared into thin air. 

“What--” Charles whirled. “Where…” Azazel was nowhere to be seen. “Rude,” he muttered. 

Azazel reappeared, holding a metal helmet. “You can come inside and talk only if you are wearing this," he said. The helmet was a dull gray metal and had a short canvas chinstrap with d-rings on the end. 

“Um, okay,” Charles said, his brow furrowing in puzzlement. He put on the helmet and jerked back when Azazel snapped a tiny padlock onto the D-rings. 

“Hey!” Charles protested, then noticed - his head was quiet. It was like before the flying sickness. “Oh,” he said belatedly, suddenly realized that maybe allowing this helmet on himself hadn’t been his best idea. 

Still, although the straps were tight they were still fabric, which meant they could be cut if Charles needed to do that and could find a sharp enough object. And the padlock, even though it was hard for Charles to get a direct view of it, was not that big, so potentially that could be broken as well. 

And it was...kind of nice to have his own mind back. In fact…

“Thank you,” he gasped to Az. “All those voices were driving me crazy. I knew this was the right place to come!”

Az gave him a blank look (did he have any other expression, Charles wondered.) “Ready?” he said.

“Ready? For wh--”

Azazel grasped Charles’ hand and suddenly the outside world around Charles melted and was replaced by a dim room with gray concrete walls and no windows. A bearded man was standing in front of him, looking at him curiously. 

“Wallet and cell phone?” The man said to Azazel. 

Azazel handed a wallet and cell phone to the man. Charles patted his pocket and realized those were his, although he didn’t know how Az had gotten them. He began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Charles Francis Xavier,” the man mused. “At least that much is true.” He handed the wallet and cell phone back to Azazel.

“You have me at a disadvantage,” Charles said, trying to stay calm even though he was beginning to sweat as he realized he had not been nearly prepared enough to come here.

The man looked at him. “My name is William Stryker,” he said. He appeared to be in his fifties, with gray hair, glasses, and a gray beard. “How did you come here?”

Charles didn’t really want to answer that, but he knew it was one of the first things he was likely to be asked. “I heard this was a place for - people with the flying sickness,” he said. “My nephew went missing from the hospital after he was diagnosed, and I thought he might be here.”

Stryker eyed him contemplatively. “How did you learn of this place?”

“I--I--read it,” Charles improvised desperately, “In the mind of one of the hospital staff members. She was thinking about people with the flying sickness, and this place, and when I got close I heard some thoughts of the people inside.”

Stryker pursed his lips. He didn’t seem surprised as much as he seemed - disgusted. “So you have it too.” 

“Apparently,” Charles said quietly. “I can read minds, hear and project thoughts. Although, not at the moment,” he said tapping the helmet. 

Stryker visibly relaxed. “Okay. Good. Mr. Xavier, I’m sorry for the precaution, but we deal in proprietary corporate secrets here; we can’t take a chance of it being leaked to our competition.” 

Charles nodded like he understood. “Honestly, it’s kind of a relief to have my mind to myself again,” he said lightly, looking to establish rapport. It was sort-of the truth. 

Stryker smiled. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “I’m glad the helmet works, too. It’s a prototype, just developed because we were recently made aware of the dangers of telepathy.”

 _The dangers of telepathy?_ “It could be a little more comfortable,” Charles said pointedly, as he felt the padlock pressing against the flesh of his neck in a way that was bound to become painful after a while. 

Stryker waved his hand. “Yes, of course. Mr. Xavier, would you object to us performing a few tests on you while you are here?”

Charles paused. Stryker didn’t seem to be quite the monster Charles had been expecting, but he also hadn’t been expecting to have his telepathic and mind-control abilities taken away from him so quickly and so effectively. 

Stryker smiled indulgently at Charles’ hesitation. “Nothing invasive or painful, don’t worry! Dr. Essex is our staff neurologist and he would like to map with his MRI what areas of the brain are in use while you are engaging in your telepathy.”

Well...Charles had a certain curiosity about that himself. But tests were not always innocent. “What happened to your other telepath?” Charles asked quietly. 

Stryker’s eyes widened minutely. “Why do you think there’s another telepath?”

“You said you had recently become aware of telepathy, and that’s why you developed this helmet. Is there someone else here - like me?”

Stryker relaxed. “Oh. Yes, actually. We had a young girl here for a while, but she’s back home with her family now.” Stryker looked for a moment like he was going to say something else, but he stopped himself.

That was a good sign that Charles would be able to get them to release Kurt - if he was telling the truth. And if he had something they wanted, it was something he could use to negotiate. “I’m...amenable to helping with your research, but I really came here to collect my nephew, Kurt.”

Stryker’s eyes flickered to Azazel, standing motionless to the side. “You know he’s Azazel’s son.”

“Legally, he’s my nephew,” Charles said quietly, but Stryker’s words felt like a knife. Azazel was as expressionless as always. “Azazel doesn’t want him. I want him.”

Azazel did not even flinch, but Stryker looked at Charles with narrowed eyes. “You’re saying you want to raise him, as he is, in your home? You know he’s blue, right? He’ll never be able to be a part of society like he is, and he’s going to get worse.” Stryker stood up and came closer to Charles, and spoke in a low voice. “I have been trying to gather as many victims of the flying sickness as possible so I can help them, Charles. Kurt may hold the key to curing all of you people - and not just with a temporary measure like an uncomfortable helmet.”

Charles swallowed. He had never been part of a class called 'you people' before, and he didn't like the way Stryker said it. And though Stryker seemed to really believe what he was saying, Charles couldn't forget what Logan had said about what had happened to him in this facility. 

“I hope you succeed,” Charles said honestly, “But, Kurt is only three years old. He needs to be with his family, the family he grew up with. His adoptive father, and his older sister.” 

Stryker pressed his lips together unhappily. 

“I can help, with what you--do here,” Charles added. “I am a geneticist by trade. I would be happy to lend my expertise for no charge...as long as I can take Kurt home.” 

“What kind of expertise?” The voice came from a dark corner of the room. Charles jumped a bit because he hadn’t known anyone was over there. 

“My dissertation was on genetic mutation,” he said quietly. “In fact, I believe this flying sickness has a genetic element.” It was only a white lie, because in fact he _knew_ there was a genetic component to the flying sickness.

Both men were silent for a moment. Charles could not see the face of the man in the corner, but Stryker was looking at Charles with a mixed expression and for the first time since he’d put on the helmet, Charles missed his mind-reading ability. 

“Well, let’s just see about that,” The man in the corner stood and walked forward into the light. He was tall with dark hair and a certain old-fashioned, Victorian quality about him. "I'm Dr. Nathaniel Essex. I’d like to see what you can do." He extended his hand to shake and Charles accepted it cautiously. “Follow me, please.” 

Charles did, and was not pleased to see that two armed guards in gray jumpsuits followed them as well. 

They all arrived what looked like a surprisingly well-appointed lab. “The government of this country is so inefficient,” Essex said, clucking and shaking his head. He seemed remarkably relaxed now, as if he was one professional talking to another. “They have hired us to investigate the causes of and potential cures for the flying sickness, and yet when something public happens, they insist on getting the opinion of ‘an unrelated professional’,” Essex sneered. He walked up to a sheet-covered lump and Charles had a split second of horrific realization before he saw what Essex uncovered: _Raven’s dead body._

He swallowed against the bile that rose up in his throat. “What--what the--what the hall is that,” he finally choked out. 

Essex gave him an amused glance. “You’ve never seen a dead body, before Dr. Xavier?”

How was Raven here? How was this happening _again_ , when he had just dealt with this yesterday? Charles tried to think of an appropriate answer that wouldn’t give anything about his relationship to Raven away, and yet also not look duplicitous if Essex and Stryker already knew that Charles was related to Raven. “It’s nice to have some kind of warning when one is going to see something like this,” He finally gritted out. 

“Homeland Security put together a committee to research what happened to this poor creature,” Essex said, either not noticing Charles’ extreme reaction or not caring. “They sent the body to a doctor at a local hospital with some genetics experience when someone proposed the sickness might have a genetic element. He did some good work, but he disappeared a day or two ago and we were able to use our, well, contacts at the hospital to bring his research here.” 

Charles’ mind was rapidly catching up. Stryker and Essex had a contact at the hospital; of course they did. Stryker no doubt employed the mysterious men that Hank had worried about. But Charles was more interested in what else Essex might know about what happened to Raven. “What did happen to ‘this poor creature’?” Charles asked. “The woman in front of me, not the doctor.”

Essex looked down at her consideringly. He moved the sheet down so her blue and scaly breasts were exposed as well as her face. Charles tried not to be sick as Essex spoke. “This is the woman that got shot at the airport about a week ago,” Essex said. “Some imbecilic TSA agent panicked and fired when her symptoms manifested in front of him.” He shook his head. “It’s a pity; from witness accounts it seemed she might be a shapeshifter, which would be incredibly useful for our, uh, research here.”

“What research is that?” Charles whispered. 

Essex gave him a sharp look. “Why, finding a cure for the flying sickness, of course.”

Charles knew that was a lie, and yet he had no response. His voice was frozen in him. 

“Charles,” Dr. Essex said after a moment of studying his face carefully, “I know this is your sister. Azazel told us.”

Charles felt blood rushing to his head. “And I know you’re not trying to cure people,” Charles snapped bitterly. “You’re trying to make weapons. Super-soldiers.” He immediately regretted speaking up, but justified anger was clouding his mind.

Essex had the tiniest, cruel smile on his face. “Now we’re finally communicating.” He covered up Raven with the sheet. “She was a rare case. The scanners we installed at JFK were supposed to trigger the sickness gradually, so we would have time to identify and collect the people who had manifested. Hence, our, well, arrangement with the hospitals.” He shook his head. “This female--Raven, I believe?--Well, we believe that the fact that she stood in the scanner for an extended period of time made her sickness progress much more rapidly than usual.”

“It sounds like you have all the data you need,” Charles snapped, bitterly. “What possible need could you have to keep her here, now? To show to her me?” 

“Actually, we want something you may actually not be completely opposed to, in this case,” Essex said in a deceptively pleasant tone. “We want you to make a clone of your sister.”

Charles was shaking his head before he could fully process what was being asked of him. The fact that human cloning had been illegal since 1996 was not even a tertiary consideration in his mind. “I don’t have the lab expertise to do that,” he said bluntly. Although, he knew the principles, and given the right equipment and enough time…Charles shook his head to stop his thoughts. No, he wasn’t going to clone Raven so these bastards could make a super-soldier out of her, although it occurred to him at the same time that with her propensity towards violence and physical coordination she would be well-suited for it, and with an ability like shape-shifting as well, she would be unstoppable. An army of Ravens...

Charles felt ill again at the last thought that crossed his mind, but he realized belatedly that some of his bad feeling could be contributed to by alcohol withdrawal. It had only been slightly over 48 hours since he’d last had a drink, after all, and the jab he’d been given at the hospital yesterday morning was only supposed to last a day...he should be taking a pill now, but of course he’d left them at home. 

“I am well aware of your work and reputation, Dr. Xavier. I do know how to use Google. I expect to see you put forth your best effort into this,” Essex said briskly. “If you succeed, I give you my word that you and your nephew can return home unharmed, if that is what you wish.”

Charles eyed Essex and tried to think. Charles viewed the chance that he would actually successfully clone anyone as so ridiculously slim that all he considered was what was the best strategy to keep him alive and un-lobotomized in the meantime, and how to keep Kurt unharmed. 

Charles stared at the man, wondering what he would consider acceptable progress. “I’ll need embryonic stem cells and nano-surgical robots, you know,” Charles said snidely. The first was illegal to possess and the second was inconceivably expensive.

“Already here,” Essex said smoothly. “I’m glad we can count on your _cooperation_ , Dr. Xavier.”

He said the word 'cooperation' with a subtle but definitely intended extra emphasis. Charles wondered what that was supposed to signify.

Essex continued. “I’ll leave you to it, then. If you need anything, please ask one of these men.” He indicated the two armed guards in the room, smiled tightly at Charles, and left. 

Charles needed to focus. He needed to at least look like he was making progress, or Essex wouldn’t let him see Kurt. He wondered how hard it would be to fake data that indicated he had produced a viable clone embryo from the DNA of his dead sister without actually succeeding. He took a deep breath to try and quell the trembling throughout his body and got to work. 

Charles knew the basics of cloning that he suspected were known even to the layman: replace the DNA in embryonic stem cells with the DNA one wants to clone. Fairly straightforward, as long as there was no gene splicing involved. Getting the new DNA to successfully incorporate itself into the stem cell was the biggest problem, but triggering cell division could also be a challenge. 

That was about the extent of Charles’ knowledge. However, with the help of the stem cells and nano-surgical equipment (although he spent most of the time puzzling over the finer aspects of the latter’s use), and some skin cells scraped apologetically off of Raven’s arm, he soon had eight petri dishes containing ‘embryos’ (although they were little more than cell clusters at this point) that he was not even sure would ‘live’ long enough to satisfy Essex that he was trying. All eight cell clusters all had a slightly darker than expected hue, for one thing. He labelled the petri dishes A through H and put them in the incubator, where he saw, to his surprise and to the outrage of his sense of the scientific method, that one petri dish was already there, pushed into the corner. 

Had somebody else already tried to clone Raven? Charles took the newly discovered dish and peered into it with a microscope. It was paler in color than any of of the eight samples Charles had prepared, and Charles discovered to his shock that the embryo was very much alive. But...if this was a human embryo, how long had it been here? Certainly longer than a few days, at which point it should be larger than it was. And it should be frozen; nobody expected a baby to grow in a petri dish. 

“I see you’ve found our other project,” Essex said. Charles had been focusing so much on the task at hand that he had not heard him walk into the room. 

“This should be frozen,” Charles said with a frown. “How long has it been here?”

Essex looked at him with a tiny smile. “About five years now.”

Charles made a derisive sound. “You know, this is information that could actually help me with what you want me to do.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Essex said calmly. “I tried to clone someone we used to--have in this facility, before we knew how, well, common the flying sickness was. We didn’t call it that back then, of course, as flying wasn’t a factor. Anyway, the subject’s ability was rapid healing, and...well, let’s just say he would have made an excellent soldier.” Essex looked at the dish. “The embryos I cloned didn’t thrive, and yet they continued to survive.” He shrugged. “I threw most of them out years ago, but I kept this one, thinking one day it will die too, or grow, or something...yet everytime I check, it is unchanged.”

Charles didn’t understand how something could be alive, and yet not grow? Like someone who didn’t age...he’d met someone recently, in fact--

Metaphorical fireworks went off in Charles’ brain. This was a clone of _Logan_ , whose mutation was healing, and who hadn’t aged since his mutation had manifested almost a century ago. Like Logan, these cell clusters wouldn’t age, which meant they wouldn’t grow...there were more conclusions to draw from this, but Essex was distracting him by looking at the petri dishes Charles had prepared. 

“Very nice,” the man murmured, as Stryker and Azazel walked into the lab. “Six of these appear to still be alive.”

So two had died in the past few minutes. Not too surprising, considered Charles’ complete lack of experience and deliberately sloppy approach to the task. But at least six were still alive, and that would certainly give them the illusion that Charles was trying. 

Stryker looked pleased. He turned to Charles. “Mr. Xavier--it’s late. We’d like to offer you accomodations for the evening.”

Charles hesitated. 

“Of course you’ll be able to take off the helmet,” Stryker added, almost as an afterthought.

“Can I see Kurt?” Charles asked, wishing he didn’t sound quite so pathetic. Stryker considered, then nodded. He glanced at Azazel. The red man disappeared and reappeared a few moments later holding a undeniably blue-tinged toddler who was frowning and rubbing his eyes. Charles’ heart leaped. Touching the mind of his young nephew wasn’t quite as reassuring as seeing him with his own eyes. 

Azazel handed the toddler to Charles, who looked at him with wide eyes. “Unka Chaw? Where Daddy?” 

Charles gazed at the boy’s face and then hugged him tight. “Your Daddy misses you a lot,” he whispered. He didn’t want to say anything about bringing Kurt home just yet, just out of superstition. Kurt clung to him and buried his face in Charles’ sweater. 

Azazel was looking at them dispassionately. Stryker looked at Charles and Kurt with what was either real or well-faked compassion. Essex looked a little uncomfortable. 

“I wish he could stay with you tonight,” Stryker said regretfully. “But we are monitoring his sleep patterns to see if he shows any special abilities during the night.”

Charles felt anger swelling up in him. Who were these people to tell him where his nephew would sleep, or what he would do? He looked Kurt over carefully and there didn’t seem to be any marks on him. He remembered what Stryker had said about taking the helmet off - when they did that, Charles would be able to freeze them all and call Tony to come get him and Kurt. That thought was the only thing that gave Charles the strength to let Kurt out of his arms. “Alright,” he choked, handing Kurt back to Azazel. 

Azazel looked at Charles for a moment, then disappeared, only to reappear a moment later.

“Azazel will show you to your room,” Stryker said. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Azazel took his hand and the two of them re-materialized a split-second later in a room with a bed and metal walls--a cell, really. The red man took a small key out of his pocket and unlocked the tiny padlock under Charles’ chin. He took off the helmet gratefully and reached out---

The only mind he could feel was Azazel’s. 

Charles glanced at the metal walls surrounding them. He noticed then that the floor and the ceiling were metal as well, probably made out of the same metal as that damn helmet. “Goddammit,” he hissed. 

“You should not have come here,” Azazel said to him. 

Charles got angry. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped. “You didn’t take Kurt because you were worried about his welfare. Why are you working for these people?”

By this point, he really didn’t expect an answer, but Azazel confirmed his theory by lifting his hair at the front of his head and showing a large scar near the front of his scalp. “I was a very different man when I first came here,” he said. “I was angry. I’m not angry anymore.”

Charles’ anger mellowed slightly when he thought about what it would be like to be lobotomized. “And you are - what, grateful? - to these men, for cutting into your brain?”

Azazel shook his head. “I have nowhere else to go,” he said simply. “I can’t live in the world I used to know with red skin or a tail.”

“How did - the flying sickness - happen to you?” Charles whispered. He was trying to read Azazel’s mind, but the man really didn’t think much more than what he voiced. 

“I was part of the installation team of the Stryker-tech security scanner at the airport,” Az said. “There was an accident.” He stopped, and Charles realized that was all he was going to say about it - and that was all he really needed to say. “Stryker told me he would try and find me a cure, and I could stay here while they are looking.”

Charles contemplated Azazel’s words. It seemed Azazel was here voluntarily, then - but how would one contain someone who could teleport, anyway? 

Answer: You’d give him a lobotomy to deaden his emotions and reasoning skills, and give him a pretext to stay.

Charles got a very unpleasant chill. 

“Did Raven ever talk about me?” Azazel asked abruptly.

Charles blinked at Az. “She said you were a thug and a criminal,” he said, emotionlessly. He was curious to see how Az’s mind responded to that. “She said if you knew you had fathered a child you would run the other way.”

Azazel seemed as mentally unruffled as always. “She was right. But it doesn’t mean I want to see the boy hurt.”

“And you know he’ll be hurt if he stays here,” Charles guessed. Azazel didn’t respond, but finally Charles saw something in his mind - the people here were looking for special abilities in Kurt, and they hadn’t found any. Not yet. 

“The man in court with you,” Az said abruptly. “Raven’s husband. Is he a good man?”

Charles swallowed. “He’s the best man I know,” he whispered. 

Az looked at Charles a long time, and Charles could feel him thinking about Erik, and how Erik approached him outside of the courthouse. Abruptly Azazel handed Charles back his wallet and cell phone. “I had to take the battery out,” he said, almost apologetically.

Because Stryker didn’t want Charles disseminating ‘proprietary information.’ Right. 

Without even saying goodnight, Azazel disappeared. 

Charles immediately tried the metal door - locked, of course. Well, there was an en suite bathroom, and he’d had a large lunch, so he wasn’t going to starve before morning. 

He looked through his wallet and noticed that most everything was still there, including several hundred dollars in cash, but his ID was missing. That was odd. 

Charles head snapped up and he stared into space as he realized he had just had just missed an opportunity to mind-control Azazel into taking Charles out of the room. He swore and kicked the bed but calmed down quickly when he realized that Azazel would probably be the one retrieving him in the morning. He would have another chance. 

He sighed and lay down on the bed. It seemed he might as well try to sleep.


	12. Kurt

_Friday morning, June 8th, 2018_

Charles heard the door to his room creak open and he was instantly awake, looking for Azazel, two fingers on his temple. But all he saw was a terrified teenage boy with stringy ginger hair getting shoved into the room before the door slammed shut. He was wearing a helmet remarkably similar to the one Charles had been wearing the day before.

Damn.

"You need to put that helmet on," the boy said, his voice full of false bravery, pointing to the helmet Charles had been wearing yesterday, still in the room from the night before. "Or they won't let you out."

Charles felt his face growing red, angry at the missed opportunity. "Where's Azazel?" he snapped.

"I don't know. I don't know, I swear," the kid gasped, his false bravado evaporating instantly. He was shrinking as far away from Charles as he could get. 

Charles frowned and studied the boy. "What did they tell you about me?" he asked slowly.

"They told me...what you can do. With your mind," the boy said with a swallow. "I can defend myself, so don't even think that you can melt my brain." His brave words did not match the trembling in his lip. 

Charles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. So they already suspected the worst of his abilities. And the cowards had sent a boy in here to make sure Charles' mind was secure before he was allowed out. Why him instead of Azazel, though? It was puzzling.

Charles couldn't help but feel empathy for the boy, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere other than here. "I'm not going to hurt you," Charles said softly. "What's your name?"

The ginger teen eyed him suspiciously. "Sean."

"Sean," Charles said carefully, watching the boy closely, "My name is Charles. Do you--work here?"

Sean shook his head and dropped his eyes. "I live here," he whispered. 

"Do you have--the flying sickness?" 

Sean turned his head away slightly, as if the very question shamed him. "Y-yes."

Charles wanted to ask what his symptom was, but if the boy had a physical mutation rather than an ability, Charles was afraid he might make the boy feel even worse. He pursed his lips and asked a different, but more vexing, question.

"Are you here of your own free will, Sean?"

Sean snapped his gaze to Charles' face with wide eyes and minutely shook his head. It was not so much a negation as it was a warning to Charles that he should not ask that. Charles realized then that he was probably being bugged or observed in some way. 

"I volunteered when they asked this morning," Sean said suddenly. Charles frowned because that seemed to contradict what his body language said. "To come wake you when they said Azazel couldn’t do it. I--don't want them to think I'm _uncooperative._ " He said the last word with an ominous inflection.

Charles had a sick feeling that he might know what happens to people who are uncooperative.

"You should cooperate, too," Sean said significantly, handing the helmet to Charles. Charles wondered exactly how 'uncooperative' one had to be to merit receiving a lobotomy but he wasn't really sure he wanted to find out. He resignedly put the helmet back on and closed the small padlock against his neck. 

"There? Happy?" Charles said, spreading his arms. The teen came close to tug on the padlock and nodded, satisfied. He knocked a pattern into the door and the door opened. Two men in gray jumpsuits and armed with shotguns stood there, and one grabbed Sean by the arm. 

"Is that really necessary?" Charles said in his coldest 'professor' voice. 

Both men looked at him, evincing slight surprise. The one holding Sean's arm made a jerking motion with his chin towards the other and the first man half-led, half-dragged Sean down the dark hallway and out of Charles' sight. 

"Come with me, please," the other man said. His voice and face were expressionless. He indicated the opposite direction from the direction Sean had been taken. 

"I don't suppose there is anything to eat in this place?" Charles said testily as he walked in front of the man as indicated. At least he wasn't pointing his weapon at Charles, although the implied threat was clear. 

The man hesitated. "The cafeteria is--not available right now. Once it's--cleaned, you'll be able to get breakfast. Right now Dr. Essex wants to see you."

Charles nodded and walked with his head held high, as if he had any choice in the matter. On their way, they passed two men carrying cleaning supplies and Charles wasn’t sure if he imagined seeing blood in their buckets or if that was his fear getting the best of him.

The man in the gray jumpsuit led Charles into a room with a large white machine with a circular opening in it. There were windows to another room in one of the walls, like an observation room or a recording studio, and a few men stood in there - also wearing helmets. 

Charles began to feel that he had been misled about the 'prototype' status of the helmet he was wearing. 

"Dr. Xavier," Charles heard behind him. It was Essex. He jumped because he hadn't noticed the man slip into the room. “I appreciate your help with this.”

“I might be a better lab rat if you fed me, you know,” Charles said irritably. 

A peculiar expression crossed Essex's face, so fast Charles thought he might have imagined it. "Our cafeteria will be open very soon, Dr. Xavier. I promise you we have nothing to gain by starving you." He smiled slightly at this, as if it were a joke. Charles hoped it was. 

"This is a magnetic resonance imaging device, commonly called an MRI," Essex said, indicating the white machine in the corner of the room. "I'd like to track which parts of your brain are active and receiving more blood flow when you are engaging your telepathy."

A spark of hope flashed with Charles. "So I will have to take the helmet off."

Essex nodded. "Yes. And since telepathy does not operate in a vacuum, there will be another person in this room with you whose mind you can read."

It occurred to Charles as he nodded at Essex’s words that he might be helping teach them how to lobotomize him without affecting his ability, but he forced that concern to the rear of his mind. Worrying about that wasn't productive, even if it was true. "And after that, I'll be able to take my nephew and leave?" he asked quietly. 

“Well. Once we know we have a viable embryo, we will be happy to send you and your nephew home, whole and unharmed." Essex gave him a very tight smile. 

And with those words, Charles realized he actually had no idea how he was going to get himself out of this situation. He felt lightheaded and panicky, and not having eaten wasn’t helping. At that moment a young blond man probably not old enough yet to drink alcohol entered the room escorted by the first gray-jumpsuit man from earlier. The blonde man was wearing a white tank top and his posture screamed belligerence.

"This is Alex," Essex said smoothly. "Alex is one of our guests here who is suffering from the flying sickness. He has volunteered to let you read his mind for the purposes of this MRI scan."

Alex nodded curtly. 

Charles smiled his friendliest smile. "Hello, Alex! I'm Charles."

Alex regarded Charles suspiciously but nodded. "Nice to meet you," he said as if the words were being forced from him. 

Dr. Essex handed Alex a small key. "Only when I tell you we're ready," he said significantly to Alex, a thread of steel in his voice. Alex nodded, swallowing. 

Essex turned to Charles and he was all smiles again. "Let me help get you situated, Charles. Please lie down here." He indicated the flat panel in front of the MRI. “And if you don’t mind, put this little clip on your finger - it’s just a heart rate monitor.”

Charles obediently lay down as directed. Dr. Essex nodded in satisfaction and left the room, only to reappear a moment later behind the glass. Then Charles heard his disembodied voice through a loudspeaker in the room. "I meant to ask you earlier, Charles, what's your approximate range for telepathy?"

"Hmm...about thirty or forty feet?" Charles said, blatantly lying.

"Thank you," Charles heard and he held his breath trying to listen to what was happening behind the glass, because he could see Essex speaking into a microphone but Charles wasn't hearing it. It was several minutes though, before Essex spoke again. 

"Helmets are all in place. You can go ahead and take his off, Alex," Charles heard through the loudspeaker. Alex walked up to Charles and used the key Essex had given him to unlock the padlock keeping the helmet on. Charles took it off and immediately reached out to see how many minds he could feel. There was Alex, obviously, but aside from him the only minds Charles could feel were several hundred feet away and down. Those minds felt vaguely familiar, but he couldn't sense Kurt. Charles' heart started pounding. He hoped they just had the boy in a helmet, although, why would they do that, especially when they weren’t doing it to their other people with the flying sickness?

"Please lie still, Charles, I'm going to remotely move you inside the machine, and I'm going to ask you to hold as still as possible. It will be very loud," Essex said over the loudspeaker.

Distracted, Charles nodded and held still as the platform he was lying on started to move him into the circular entrance of the MRI.

"So, are you going to read my mind?" Alex asked. Charles felt urgency behind Alex’s inquiry. He wanted to tell Charles some important things, and suddenly he had all of Charles' attention. 

_What is it you want me to know, Alex?_

_We're prisoners._ Alex's thoughts were hurried and blunt. _There are four of us, we have the flying sickness, and we under constant threat of being lobotomized if we don't cooperate._

"Ok, Charles, you can read Alex's mind now," Essex said. "Alex, think of a five-digit number."

Charles refrained from rolling his eyes because he thought that might constitute too much motion for the MRI. 

Charles reached out for the minds he had felt earlier, thinking they were probably the ones Alex had mentioned. To his surprise, they were all familiar to him: Sean, from that morning; Angel, Raven's previous co-worker; and Irene, Raven's young friend who had said such odd things to him at the funeral. He still could not feel Kurt, or Azazel - although _his_ mind was a subtle presence generally anyway, and he was probably helmeted like the rest of the staff apparently was.

The machine started making a horrible banging noise, but fortunately Charles could still concentrate well enough to communicate telepathically. _There was a little boy here last night, Alex. About 3 years old, and a little, well, blue. Have you seen him this morning?_

_Yes, Kurt’s been here a couple of days,_ Alex thought back. _I haven't seen him yet this morning, though._

Hadn’t seen him this morning? That wasn't particularly reassuring to Charles. 

"Thank you, Charles - do you think you could try projecting to Alex now, see if he can hear you?”

It was almost funny how clueless Essex was - Charles had been projecting to Alex practically since the helmet had come off, but Charles dared not laugh. He felt Alex smirking though. 

Charles didn’t know how much longer he would be able to converse with Alex, and he had more questions. _Do you know what happened to the other telepath they had here? How many helmets do they have?_ he asked hurriedly. He could tell that none of the other three minds he felt were telepathic.

_The other telepath...oh, you mean Jean._ Charles saw an image of a red-haired little girl of about nine years old. _She was here for a few weeks, a couple months ago, but they told us she went home. We never know whether to believe them or not. The helmet thing is new; I have no idea how many they have._

Probably enough for all the staff, although Charles had only seen a handful of staff. 

Charles kept feeling he was forgetting something important, but he couldn’t remember what it was. 

_You can do more than they think you can, can’t you?_ Alex thought. _None of us can do anything that they’re really interested in here. Sean can bust a wineglass with his voice and I can shoot energy that melts some stuff--Angel has these little wings that don’t really work. We all know they don’t really know what to do with us, and it’s just a matter of time before...Anyway, Irene says we can trust you. Can you help us get out of here? Please?_

Charles could not imagine leaving them here, now that he knew there were people being held here against their will. _I shall do my utmost, Alex._

Essex’s voice came over the loudspeaker again. “That’s great, Charles. We’re getting some very good data. Now, can you do anything along the line of mind-control, or telekinesis, or anything else we might be able to record?”

Charles abruptly felt very anxious. “No, nothing like that,” he said, his heart speeding up. 

There was a long silence before Essex spoke again. “Very well. Alex, please secure his helmet?”

Alex stepped forward to do that before Charles could ask him not to. _Can you just pretend to lock it?_ Charles asked desperately. 

Alex looked at him with haunted eyes. He didn’t actually put any thoughts into words, but just before the helmet cut him off again Charles felt the importance of _cooperation_ in Alex’s mind. 

Not that having his helmet off did him any good anyway, if the only people here whom it would be worthwhile to mind-control were wearing helmets of their own, but then at least he could call Tony. 

Charles cursed out loud. That was what had been slipping his mind. He’d meant to call Tony mentally, and he should have just barely been able to before he let Alex lock the damn helmet on him again. 

“Is everything alright, Dr. Xavier?” Dr. Essex had come back into the room and had pushed a button that was slowly moving the platform (with Charles on it) out of the mouth of the MRI. 

“Oh! Yes. Just, um, stomach cramps. From hunger.”

“Ah. Well, the cafeteria should be open by now, so I will have Greg show you the way.”

Greg was apparently the name of the gray-jumpsuited man who had brought Charles from his cell that morning. Sure enough, the cafeteria was opened and Charles was able to get oatmeal and some fruit. The cafeteria was not large, but it looked like it would accommodate at least twenty people. Charles was anxious to know how many people he might actually have to potentially deal with when - if - he got an opportunity to collect Kurt and escape. 

After he ate, Charles was feeling more and more despondent - and unfortunately, he was starting to get the shakes again. It had not occurred to him to take the pills Dr. Munroe prescribed with him when he’d left with Tony in the helicopter. Also, even if someone here were willing to give him alcohol, the last thing he felt like doing was having a drink. He felt that he needed all his wits about him to get through this with his brain intact.

Dr. Essex showed up as Charles was finishing his meal. “Let’s go check on last night’s project, shall we?”

Charles’ stomach sank as they walked to the lab. He anticipated that all the rest of the embryos had died in the night, and Essex would be expecting him to start over - or worse. 

Essex went to the incubator and looked at the six remaining petri dishes immediately.   
“Congratulations,” He said with a big smile. “It appears that three of these are thriving.”

Charles tried not to let his surprise show on his face. 

Essex looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go welcome a new arrival now. Perhaps I’ll be able to introduce you two - apparently our newest guest is also a telepath. Should be interesting.” Essex smiled. “I’ll come check on you in about an hour, though. You can freeze these, if you know how. The equipment is all here.” He left.

Charles’ jaw was dropped. Another telepath? He stared after Essex’s back as the tall man left the room, then shook his head a moment later. He needed to focus. Charles felt like he had finally gotten a break - apparently Essex didn’t know that embryos were supposed to be at least twenty-four hours old before they were frozen. These ones had been created slightly more than twelve hours before. Charles knew he would probably be killing them - which is what he wanted, because he didn’t want Raven clones to be mindless lobotomized soldiers, but he also felt a pang of - something he didn’t understand, and didn't want to examine too closely. He pushed his confusion aside and focused on what he knew he needed to do. 

**

Essex came back a little over an hour later, just as Charles was putting the last dewar containing an embryo surrounded by liquid nitrogen into the cryogenic freezer. 

“Do you remember that other telepath I mentioned to you?” Essex said pleasantly. “I will be scanning the newcomer’s brain with my MRI machine in a few minutes. Would you like to come and perform the role that Alex did for you this morning?”

Charles’ curiosity wouldn’t have let him decline even if he had wanted to. Not to mention, they would have to take his helmet off again and when they did he could call Tony. It suddenly occurred to Charles that Erik probably wasn’t asleep anymore and he hoped his lover hadn’t killed his ride home. “Um, yes, I‘d like that. As long as you take me to see Kurt after,” he added hastily. 

Essex hummed non-committally. “We’ll come check on your embryos after,” he said. 

Charles resented that response bitterly, but it didn’t make him want to meet the other telepath any less. 

He followed Essex down the hall and past the cafeteria to the MRI room, where Charles saw the last person he expected to see. His jaw dropped as he stared, speechless. 

**

_Wednesday, June 6th through Friday, June 8th, 2018_

Kurt thought the hospital was scary. Daddy was mad and yelling at everyone, and he only calmed down when Unka Chaw showed up. 

Kurt was almost asleep at the hospital when he felt a hand go over his mouth and then suddenly he was in a new place that looked kind of like the hospital but it was darker. Then Kurt turned to see the man with his hand on his mouth was not Daddy or Unka Chaw; he had red skin and he looked like the devil in the cartoons. Kurt screamed.

The devil-man did not react at all. He backed up a little but he stayed in the room as other people came to Kurt and fussed over him. Someone gave Kurt a blue teddy bear and he gripped it with all his might. The people were nice and they smiled; they spoke in soft voices and they looked at him all over, looked at his feet and hands very closely at the itchy spot on Kurt’s lower back. They put a needle in him, which hurt a little, but then they gave him a cookie and the place where the needle had gone didn’t hurt so bad after a while.

They put him in a bed to sleep, a bed with bars around it like his crib used to have, but they went all the way up to the ceiling. He held on to the blue teddy bear very tightly in case someone tried to take it away, but nobody did. 

The next morning the red man came to get him and said they wanted to know what Kurt could do. Kurt didn’t look at him and buried his face in Blue instead. But then some of the other people were nice to him and he looked at them. When he asked if he could play with cars, they brought him toy cars. He liked playing with the cars, but nobody wanted to play with him like Daddy would. They all just stood around watching him. 

When they asked what else he could do he showed them how he could stand on his head if he did it in a corner. Some of the people smiled but some seemed mad at him for that. Then he told them he could use the potty by himself, but nobody seemed to care much about that either, although one man did take him to use the potty. 

Kurt had been there a couple days when the red man came to his bed/cage early in the morning and held Kurt’s hand. Everything disappeared around Kurt and he was suddenly at home, not the new home where Daddy and Mommy moved to before Mommy went away, but the home where they all used to live with Unka Chaw, in the living room. The red man carried him to different rooms until there was one room where Daddy was sleeping. 

“Daddy!” Kurt shrieked and wiggled out of the red man’s arms to run and hug Daddy. 

Kurt frowned, though, because Daddy didn’t move. Kurt turned to look at the red man but he was gone. He turned back to Daddy and thought that since it was still dark outside Daddy probably wasn’t ready to wake up yet, so Kurt snuggled up to him and was able to sleep comfortably for the first time in days. 

Kurt woke up later and it was light outside. He pushed Daddy a little to see if he would wake up but Daddy didn’t even make a sound. Kurt got desperate and even hit him on the back with his tiny fists but Daddy still wouldn’t wake up. Then he remembered what Unka Chaw said about Mommy sleeping forever - was Daddy going to sleep forever like Mommy?? Terror gripped him and Kurt screamed as loud as he could.

**

Hank heard a scream and ran downstairs, all his fur on end. He followed the noise to the master bedroom, where the door was ajar. A blue-tinged toddler was kneeling on the bed next to Erik's sleeping form. He stopped abruptly when he saw Hank. His eyes got big.

Hank braced himself for more screaming but instead the boy said "Blue?" in a tone of wonder. 

"Hi, Kurt," Hank said in his gentlest voice. Kurt held his arms up to Hank in the universal toddler language for 'pick me up'. 

Bemused, Hank picked up the boy, who was very excited by his fur. He kept petting it and babbling nonsense and saying the word “blue” a lot.

Well, considering his career choice, obstetrics and pediatrics, Hank wasn't completely terrible with children. Until Erik woke up, and/or Charles returned, it seemed he was a de facto babysitter. "Let's see if we can find you some cereal, okay?"

"Okay, Blue," Kurt said happily.

**

_Friday, June 8th, 2018, morning_

Lorna’s patience with her father was at a snapping point. 

She knew things were rough for him right now, but it seemed to her that all her Dad cared about since Raven’s passing was Charles, and frankly that hurt Lorna. She had loved Raven like a sister or a best friend; even though she had gone away to college she and Raven had been in constant communication over social media and Raven was the person Lorna would ask first about anything. 

And it made Lorna feel angry that the first thing her Dad could think of after his wife died was how to get his boyfriend back. She also felt that he was using her, a bit, as a babysitter, and that’s why she had gone to stay at her Mom’s the night before Kurt had been taken. She had called her Dad the next night, but apparently he’d been sleeping when she called, and Charles had answered and explained that Kurt had been abducted, apparently by his biological father. 

He must be going through hell, she thought. And so she hadn’t called him but it had been over 24 hours now - surely someone should have told her what was going on? She tried calling her father and it rang several times but then went to voicemail. She tried to call Charles and it went immediately to voicemail. She finally drove to the apartment, early in the morning, but nobody was there. Lorna realized there was only one place he could be, and she set off for Charles’ apartment. Fortunately she still had a key, since after all she had lived there part-time for about a year and nobody had thought to collect it from her when Raven and Erik moved out. 

Lorna let herself into the apartment and looked around for a moment before she headed for the master bedroom - sure enough, Erik was there, asleep on the bed. Charles was nowhere to be found, though.

“Dad,” she said. He didn’t move.

“Dad,” she said louder. She pushed at his leg. He didn’t so much as mumble. 

She walked around the bed so she was next to his face. “Erik Lehnsherr,” she said loudly. Still no response. She shoved at him, still talking loudly, and when that didn’t work she bit her lip and slapped him on the face, hard. 

When he didn’t respond to that, she started to get scared. 

He’d had a lot to be upset about - could this be an overdose of some kind? Suicide didn’t seem like her Dad at all, but he’d had to deal with his boyfriend leaving, then his wife dying, then his son being kidnapped. She could tell he was still breathing, but he was otherwise non-responsive. 

_If he has tried to kill himself, I will never forgive him,_ she thought angrily.

Lorna dialed 911 with shaking fingers, realizing she was starting to hyperventilate. 

She had explained the situation to the dispatcher and was waiting on the phone for the paramedics to arrive when she turned around to see a tall blue furry creature standing in the doorway, holding Kurt in its arms. She screamed and dropped the phone. 

The creature held out the paw that wasn’t holding Kurt. “It’s okay,” it said in a deep baritone voice, adding, somewhat lamely, “I’m a doctor.”

“What?” Lorna gasped. 

“Lorna!” Kurt said happily, reaching out for her. She looked at him with wide eyes and back to the face of the furry blue beast. She was breathing heavily, backing up. 

Hank put Kurt down and the little boy ran around the bed to get to Lorna. She picked him up with shaking arms, not really looking at him until she did so. “You’re blue,” she whispered. Her eyes snapped back to Hank. “What is going on?” she said helplessly. 

“Lorna, we met once before, years ago,” Hank said haltingly. “I was the doctor who delivered your brother. My name is Hank McCoy. Your brother and I both have the, uh, flying sickness they’ve been talking about on the news.”

Lorna stared at him for a moment more, but her pulse was starting to even out. That made some kind of sense, at least. “What are you doing here?” she asked. 

“Red man brought me home,” Kurt said, pulling on one of Lorna’s buttons. 

Lorna looked to Hank for an explanation and he held up his paws in a very human gesture of helplessness. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know what that means. I don’t know how he got here. I’m here because...well, Charles had offered to let me stay here because--well, I can’t really go home right now. But he, uh, left, and I heard Kurt screaming a couple hours ago because he couldn’t wake up Erik.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Lorna whispered. “The paramedics are on their way.”

Hank’s eyes widened. “The _what?_ Oh no. Kurt and I have to hide.”

Lorna narrowed her eyes at the blue man. “I thought you were a doctor.”

“Yes, and that’s how I know what happens to people with the flying sickness,” Hank said hurriedly. “They get taken. Especially when their symptoms are visible.” He looked down at Erik and sighed. “I really think your father’s fine, by the way. I suspect he is just--deeply asleep.”

“Oh, is that your professional opinion?” Lorna asked sarcastically. “Because I don’t think you’re a doctor at all, and I don’t know why you’re here, but it seems to me you could just as likely be the person who took him in the first place. So don’t think that I’m going to let you ‘hide’ with Kurt!”

“If you take Kurt to the hospital, they will take him,” Hank said desperately, wondering how long he had until the paramedics arrived. “The hospital staff are required to report instances of the flying sickness, and men show up and take them away. The hospital is where Kurt was abducted from last time, and I suspect that was not a coincidence. Erik doesn’t have any visible symptoms, and he knows the hospital policy, so I think he’ll be fine. But, please trust me on this - the paramedics can’t see Kurt.”

“He’s my brother,” Lorna said firmly, tightening her grasp on the boy. “He stays with me.”

“Did somebody scream?” Tony said from behind Hank. He was wearing superman pajama bottoms and a black tank top through which his arc-reactor heart glowed white.

Lorna’s eyes got big. “Tony Stark! You were at Raven’s funeral!”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he said, yawning. “Was that you screaming just now?”

“My Dad won’t wake up,” Lorna said after a moment. She was a little star-struck. She’d noticed him with Charles at Raven’s funeral, but she hadn’t even dared to talk to the famous inventor at Raven’s funeral - especially after she heard that her Dad had punched him.

“That’s your dad? Oh, shit. Well, don’t tell him that I, you know, made eye contact with you or anything when he wakes up.”

Lorna frowned in puzzlement. “What?” She wondered how much bizarre input her brain could take before it finally just shut down completely. 

Hank turned to Tony. “Lorna called 911 because Erik won’t wake up. Kurt and I need to hide.”

Tony waved. “No problem, my door is open.”

Lorna held Kurt tighter. “I’m not letting go of him!”

Tony seemed to realize for the first time that Lorna was freaked out. "Whoa, honey, it's okay. Your dad is going to be fine. Charles just mind-whammied him. And you can go to my apartment too, if you want, although it would be better if you called off the paramedics.”

There was a knock on the door. 

Hank looked at Lorna and Tony with anxious eyes. Tony turned to Lorna. “Seriously, though, the beast has a point; you should hide the boy. Go with Hank.”

In the absence of knowing the right thing to do, and on the verge of a complete meltdown, Lorna numbly took Tony’s suggestion and followed Hank upstairs, holding Kurt in her arms. 

Tony went to answer the door, where two young male paramedics were standing. “Hey guys. Sorry about the call; it’s all good, actually.”

The two young men looked at each other and then looked at Tony in his superman pajamas. “Can we see the patient?” the blonde one finally asked. “Did he wake up?”

“No, not yet, but he’s fine,” Tony said. The young man on the left, with black hair, muttered something into the radio clipped to his shoulder. 

The radio crackled something out that Tony didn’t understand. The men looked at each other again. “I really must insist that we see the patient,” the blond paramedic said slowly. 

“Ah, well, if you _insist_ ,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. Really, it was too early to get in a fight over something like this. 

The men came in and Tony showed them to the master bedroom. “Do you know if he took any drugs, sleeping pills, anything like that?” the first man asked as the other started to examine Erik. 

“No idea,” Tony said calmly. “Can you wrap this up quickly? I’d like to have breakfast, shower, wear real pants, that kind of stuff.”

“What happened to the young woman who called this in?” the second man asked suspiciously. 

“Oh, she, um, had to leave.” Tony was tiring of the paramedics very quickly. 

“I’m here,” Lorna said breathlessly, entering the room without Kurt. “This is my Dad. I’m really worried; is he okay?”

“We can’t find anything wrong here,” the first paramedic said. “Has he had any - unusual symptoms? Headaches, anything - weirder?”

“Well, actually he has been complaining of a headache ever since they got back from Germany,” Lorna said slowly, not seeing Tony’s eyes widen in alarm. “But what do you mean, weirder?” 

The two paramedics looked at each other. “We should definitely take him in for observation,” the second man said.

“Is that really necessary?” Lorna said, a little desperately. She didn’t know exactly what to believe right now, and unfortunately a lot of decisions seemed to be coming down to her. 

“Yes,” the first man said firmly. “This...isn’t the kind of thing you want to take chances with.” He made quick but significant eye contact with the second man. 

Lorna considered, chewing on her bottom lip. Hank said that he thought Erik was fine and didn’t need to go to the hospital, but Hank also thought that he would be fine at the hospital too. Even though Lorna herself didn’t know what was wrong with Erik - she had literally no idea what Tony meant by ‘mind-whammy’ - she thought that the hospital was probably the best place to figure it out. She didn’t know if she could trust Hank completely just yet - although she had agreed to let him watch Kurt for just a couple minutes while she came downstairs, it was only because she didn’t see another option if she wanted to keep Kurt from being seen by the paramedics - and Hank’s point about _that_ had been persuasive enough to convince her.

“Um, okay.” Lorna bit her lip. “Do I have to go with you? It’s just, uh, I’m waiting for my little brother to, uh, get back.” She almost said he was upstairs sleeping but changed her mind at the last minute. 

“No problem,” the second man said with a light smile. “We’ll call you when we know more, or you can just come to the hospital when you’ve got your brother sorted.”

They loaded Erik’s sleeping form onto a gurney as Lorna watched, anxiously shifting her weight from foot to foot and glancing towards the stairs frequently. Tony stood with his arms folded impatiently. 

As soon as the door shut, Lorna ran upstairs only to find that Kurt wanted to stay in Hank’s arms. She sighed. 

“Glad I could help,” Tony sang over his shoulder as he went back to his apartment. 

**

Erik’s eyes opened with a snap. “I have to pee,” he gasped. He looked around him with bleary eyes. He was - at the hospital? He ripped the monitoring equipment off his chest and stood up, grabbing the first person in scrubs who walked by. “Bathroom,” he rasped. His voice felt dehydrated. She pointed him to a door with big eyes, and he went through it gratefully. 

When he came out, he stood in the hallway looking bemused and feeling dizzy. “You woke up,” an older woman in scrubs said to him pleasantly. 

“What am I doing here? What time is it? Where’s Charles?” he demanded of the doctor. 

“Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll talk about it,” the woman said soothingly. “Are you hungry?”

His stomach growled loudly. “Yes,” Erik said unequivocally. 

“Your vital signs indicated you were only sleeping, but nothing would wake you up,” the doctor said. “Can you tell me anything about that?”

Erik stared at the doctor. “Charles,” he gritted out. Charles did it to him _again,_ after they’d talked about it, after their fight, after they’d had sex. And he probably went to the facility by himself, completely unprepared, expecting his charm to prevail...Erik forced himself to chant elements in his head before the metal around him started to go haywire.

The doctor blinked. “That’s the second time you’ve said that name. Who’s Charles?” 

“He’s my…” Erik shook his head, because there was no word that fit, and Erik was too angry to think about it. “Nevermind.” He looked up at the doctor and made a snap decision. “I have had a very bad headache ever since I got back from Germany a little over a week ago,” he said, enunciating each word carefully. 

Something flashed across the doctor’s face and she subtly moved back a step. “Is that so? Have you...had any unusual--body changes? Or, experiences that can’t be explained?”

Erik feigned a shameful fear. “Actually, yes,” he whispered. He looked at the doctor with wide eyes. “I’ve been hearing other people’s thoughts.”


	13. Confrontation

_Friday, June 8th, 2018, afternoon_

Between Lorna and Hank, they were able to entertain Kurt for about an hour at Charles’ apartment before he started getting antsy and asking for Daddy. Lorna was still not completely sure what to make of Hank, but since nothing in his behavior towards herself or Kurt contradicted his story, and since Tony Stark (who had some credibility with Lorna merely because of his fame and reputation) had seemed to accept Hank unequivocally, she decided to give the blue, furry man the benefit of the doubt. 

Tony came by about an hour and a half after the paramedics had taken Erik to the hospital, looking much more put-together and dressed than he had when he had been there in his pajamas earlier. He walked in the front door without knocking, and frowned when he saw that it was still just Lorna and Hank and Kurt. “No word from what’s-his-butt? Or the cute one?”

Hank had grown used to Tony’s--well, just him--quickly enough that he understood what Tony was asking even as Lorna frowned confusedly. 

“Not yet,” Hank said. “I was about to call the hospital.”

“I just did,” Lorna said morosely. “They said they couldn’t tell me anything, even when I said I was his daughter.”

Hank looked at her thoughtfully. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number, then asked to speak to doctor Munroe. He stepped onto the balcony to have his conversation. 

Tony started to look through Charles’ refrigerator.

Kurt, restless, started crying when Hank left his line of sight. “Blue,” he sobbed. “Daddy. Mommy. Unka Chaw.” He clung to Lorna as if he was afraid she might disappear too. Lorna smoothed his hair back and kissed him on the forehead, her heart heavy. She wanted to reassure him but she knew at least one of the people he wanted wasn’t coming back, and couldn’t be completely sure about the others.

“Blue will be right back,” she whispered into his hair. That seemed like a safe bet, at least.

Hank came back inside a few minutes later. “Any luck?” Lorna asked him. 

Hank seemed very anxious. “Uh, sort of. Erik didn’t give them his real name, and I guess he didn’t have his ID on him, but they did have a sleeping John Doe who told them his name was Max when he woke up. He also told them he was telepathic.”

“What!” Lorna gaped at Hank. “Why would he do that?”

“Probably so he could get taken by the men who I warned you about earlier,” Hank said quietly. “It’s not a huge leap to think that the man who took Kurt was working for the same facility who collects all the mutants who come to the hospitals. It was a bit of a calculated risk. I don’t know why he would say that he was a telepath, though.”

“I think I get it,” Tony said thoughtfully, opening a container of yogurt that was probably far past its expiration date. “The element of surprise. That guy’s smarter than he looks. But how did he fake reading people’s minds?”

Hank shook his head. “Honestly, with the witch-hunt climate at the hospital, the suggestion was probably enough to get him picked up.”

“So where is he?” Lorna demanded. 

Hank and Tony both looked at her. “Very likely, the same place Charles went,” Hank said gently. 

Tony paused in sniffing his yogurt suspiciously. “Oh, yeah, that reminds me - Charlie said he would call me when he wanted a ride back, and he said that would be before Erik woke up.” Tony tossed the yogurt in the trash can. “I thought maybe he would find his own way back, like the little blue guy here, but maybe there’s a problem and he can’t call me like he thought he could.”

Lorna turned to Tony. “Wait. So--you know where they are? Why aren’t you getting them now?” She wouldn’t normally speak to a celebrity that way, but she was starting to feel more than a little frustrated. 

Tony looked at her for a moment, his eyes unseeing as the gears in his head turned. “Yeah.” he said after a moment. “Yeah, I should go there.”

Lorna almost hugged him in relief, but he put a hand up. “Whoa. If I touch you, your dad will kill me.”

Lorna snickered. “ _My_ dad? That’s funny.”

“Not really,” Tony said grimly.

**

_Friday, June 8th, 2018, afternoon_

Erik, wearing the same helmet Charles was, looked at Charles with slightly tilted head and confused eyes, as if he didn’t recognize him. “Charles?”

The strong urge to punch Erik actually crossed Charles’ mind before it occurred to him that maybe this wasn’t an act. Had they--done something to Erik’s brain, already? Terror gripped him. 

“I see you two know each other,” Stryker said, looking from Erik to Charles. 

“Yes, we met once--in a support group,” Erik said, quickly, before Charles could speak. “For people with the flying sickness.”

Charles tried to control his reaction, but he needn’t have bothered. Stryker was too excited by Erik’s words to notice what Charles did or didn’t do. “There’s a support group for people with the flying sickness?” He said, his voice slightly higher in pitch than usual. “I’d love to know more about those meetings. Specifically, when and where they take place.”

“I’d be happy to telepathically put that information into your mind,” Erik said mildly. “As soon as you take this helmet off me.”

“Mmm.” Stryker smiled slightly. “I’d prefer if you could just write it down.” Charles noticed that he was holding a helmet of his own in his hand. 

What was Erik doing? Did the helmet hamper his ability, too? Charles didn’t understand why they thought he was a telepath and he felt like a deer caught in the headlights as he looked from Erik to Stryker to Essex, who was starting to look impatient. 

“Bill, can we get started on why we’re here first?” Essex muttered. He raised his voice so that everyone in the room could hear him. “Please, everyone, make sure your helmets are in place.” 

Erik looked awfully smug about something. That look both gave Charles hope and scared him, simultaneously. 

There were two armed gray-suited henchmen in the room besides Essex and Stryker, and all four men had secured their helmets in place. One of the henchmen stayed in the room as Stryker and Greg (Charles belatedly remembered his name) left to go to the observation room. Essex stayed behind, his own helmet firmly in place, and unlocked first Erik’s helmet and then Charles’. He indicated Erik should lie down on the appropriate part of the machine, which, to Charles’ surprise, he did. 

When Charles’ helmet came off, Charles immediately reached out and all he could feel nearby were the same four minds he had felt earlier that day - Alex, Sean, Angel and Irene - plus, of course, Erik. Essex slipped into the observation room as Charles was acclimating to the new telepathic space.

_What are you doing here,_ he asked Erik furiously. 

_I should ask you the same thing,_ Erik replied. His mental voice was cool. _Are you really so arrogant as to think you could rescue Kurt by yourself? Or are you just naive?_

“Max, you can start reading Charles’ mind anytime you like,” Essex’s voice crackled over the loudspeaker.

_I was trying to protect you, and protect others from you,_ Charles thought back furiously. _I had a plan._ And that reminded him. _Tony!_ Charles thought as loudly as he could, reaching out for his ride. 

_Oh, you’ll let Tony help you, but not me?_ The words were accompanied by a strong sense of hurt, betrayal, and jealousy that too quickly morphed into a cold rage. 

The MRI machine started making loud banging noises. Erik’s pale green eyes snapped up, surprised for a moment. Then the noises started to change. The banging became less pronounced, and an odd humming sound starting coming from the device. 

“Hang on, gentlemen, I’m going to have to turn the machine off,” Essex’s disembodied voice was saying. “It’s doing something--this is really odd.” The loudspeaker clicked off, but Charles could see Essex’ lips still moving through the observation window as he frowned and poked at something in front of him.

_Charles! I hear you!_ It was Tony. _I’m actually on my way there now. Kurt came home; he’s with Lorna and Hank now._

Kurt was home? How had that happened? That changed everything - or did it? There were still mutants here being held captive and whom Charles had promised to rescue if he could. 

_Erik’s here too, Tony. I’m not sure exactly how, but I’m looking at him._

_Yeah, we thought he probably was._

Even though Essex wasn’t saying anything over the loudspeaker now, Charles could see him gesticulating wildly and pointing through the observation window at the MRI with Erik inside it. 

_Erik, what are you doing?_

_This machine works because of electromagnetism, Charles. I only had to find the right frequency..._

Then Charles realized, as he felt from Erik’s perspective his sense of the metal around him expanding, unfurling, reaching out from a few feet around his to hundreds of feet away - Erik was doing to himself what Charles had done the night before; expanding his powers. 

Essex had finally had it with the malfunctioning MRI, apparently. Two helmeted henchmen came in and padlocked a helmet on Charles before one of them unplugged the MRI and the other reached in to try and pull Erik out of the machine. Erik pushed the man away with one hand, distracted by trying to keep the unplugged MRI machine going using just his own ability. The man who had just secured Charles’ helmet ran over to help his colleague with Erik.

And then the attorney Sebastian Shaw walked in, helmetless.

He barked a laugh when he had taken in the room. The sound was so incongruous that everyone stopped to look at him.

“You stood me up this morning,” he said to Erik, with an oddly calm amusement. “Oh, this man’s name is not Max,” he then said, looking pointedly in the direction of the observation window. “His name is Erik Lehnsherr, and he is the acting father of the little blue boy.” He nodded to Charles. “And he knows this one very well. They were in court together.”

“I tried to do it your way, Charles,” Erik said, and suddenly every gun in the room yanked out of the hands or holsters they’d been in and were hovering in mid-air, aimed at Shaw, at the observation window, and at the henchmen. One floated into Erik’s hands as well. 

“Bring me my son,” Erik said to Shaw, the only man in his line of sight. His face was set and he was aiming at gun at the lawyer.

“Erik, Kurt’s not here,” Charles said placatingly. “He is with Lorna and Hank. He’s safe. You don’t have to do this.”

Erik’s eyes slid back to Charles. “If that’s true, how did Kurt get back?”

Something Charles had been wondering himself. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Erik strode over to the observation door, next to the window, and it flew off its hinges. Charles gasped to see such a directed and powerful use of Erik’s ability - he had come a long way from coin tricks a few days ago. Erik went inside the observation room and came out after a moment following Essex, Stryker, and the other henchman. All three had their hands up and were being threatened by floating firearms.

“Get on your knees and put your hands behind your heads,” Erik said. His lips were a narrow line and his voice was cold. He shoved Shaw. “You too.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with--” at a glare from Erik, and seeing a floating gun move closer, Shaw cut himself off with a swallow and complied. Soon the five men were in a row on their knees. 

“Erik, please, Kurt is fine, I swear to you,” Charles babbled, as fear gripped him. “There’s no need for this!”

“How do you know that, Charles?” Erik asked. He was trembling with anger. 

“Because--because--Tony told me,” Charles said, knowing Erik wouldn’t like the answer. He hastily continued. “Kurt is safe, but there are other people here, mutants, people like us, people being held against their will, and _they_ are _not_ safe. Erik, do you hear what I’m saying?”

“I don’t care,” Erik snapped. “All I care about is Kurt!”

“You’ve made that abundantly clear,” Charles snapped back, and immediately regretted it. His chest felt squeezed. 

Erik gave Charles a pained look and walked close to Shaw. “Where is my son?” The gun in his hand was pointed at Shaw’s forehead. 

“I don’t know,” Shaw said, his eyes flicking to Charles. A light sweat was beading on his brow. “I’m just their attorney. I represent their legal interests. I didn’t even know your son was missing.”

Erik looked like he might shoot Shaw just for not telling him what he wanted to hear. 

“Take my helmet off, Erik,” Charles said desperately, tugging at the padlock under his chin. “I can read his mind and tell you if he’s telling the truth.”

Erik flickered a glance in Charles’ direction but otherwise did not respond. Then Charles realized, with a sick feeling in his stomach: _He wouldn’t believe me anyway. He thinks I will say anything to keep him from shooting._

Erik floated a gun closer to Stryker’s forehead. “Where’s my son? And if I get another bullshit answer I pull the trigger.”

Stryker looked up at Erik with more disgust than fear. “Azazel was a teleporter. He brought Kurt back to your home early this morning.”

“Why should I believe you?” Erik demanded, pressing the gun into Stryker’s forehead so hard that that it pushed his head back. 

“Erik, please,” Charles said desperately. 

Erik ignored Charles. “If Azazel’s a goddamn teleporter then why the fuck can’t he _bring me my son!_ ” On the last word, he backhanded Stryker with the hand holding the gun and the man fell with a yell of surprise as blood started oozing out of a gouge on his temple caused by the handgun. 

The veins on Erik’s neck stood out and his hand trembled as he pushed the gun into the forehead of the next man in line. 

“Please, Erik, don’t do this,” Charles gasped, shaking with fear, on the verge of tears, terrified that Erik was going to start shooting. “Take everyone’s helmet off,” He said suddenly. “Especially mine. I can help. You don’t have to do this. _Please._ ” Erik looked around and saw that he and Shaw were only people not wearing helmets. 

Erik looked at Charles with flared nostrils, his eyes unfocused with rage. He hesitated a split second before the metal helmets on the the gray-suited henchmen, Essex, and Stryker dissolved. 

“Me too, Erik, or it doesn’t do any good,” Charles said desperately.

Erik continued looking at Charles for a moment, but Charles felt like he was seeing something else. A nearby helmet floated onto Erik’s head and secured itself. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Charles,” he said.

Only then did the padlock holding Charles’ helmet on fall apart. He lifted the metal helmet off himself, watching Erik, breathing shallowly. More than he felt hurt by Erik’s behavior, he was terrified of it. 

“I can take it from here,” Charles said quietly. “There’s no need to hurt anyone.” 

Erik’s mouth tightened. “We can talk about that after I’ve found Kurt.” His eyes slid over to Charles again. “Where is Azazel?”

“I can’t feel him,” Charles said. He looked into the minds of Essex and Stryker and Shaw to see if they knew, and when he saw their memories, his stomach roiled. “Oh my god,” he said, putting his hand to his mouth. “They killed him,” Charles choked out. “They killed Azazel,” he quickly clarified. “Because--he was coming back for me.” He’d seen it when he looked, in both Stryker’s mind and Essex’s: Azazel’s calm but stubborn statement that he was going to bring the uncle back now, too; the disdainful regret they’d felt at having to shoot him; Essex’s sentiment _how unfortunate that even with a lobotomy some lab experiments just don’t work out._ How Stryker had shot him in the cafeteria, when he was distracted by talking to Essex. Azazel never saw it coming.

Even though he felt sick to his stomach at how casually Essex and Strykr had disposed of Azazel, Charles was more scared of what Erik might do in retaliation. He desperately tried to assess what he could do, either physically or with his power, to stop Erik from killing. Tackling Erik wouldn’t do any good, even if Charles had the stomach for it; they would probably both get shot. Charles saw that Greg was kneeling only a few feet away from Erik now, helmetless. Unbeknownst to Greg, Charles felt in his mind that he had a knife easily accessible, a knife that could cut the strap on the helmet, and it would take him only a split second to reach Erik. 

And then Charles saw in Erik’s eyes and stance that he was about to shoot Stryker. “Erik, _NO_!” Erik spared only a quick glance at Charles but it was long enough for him to see that Charles was looking beyond Erik, with two fingers on his temple. He did a double-take, frowning, as Charles made Greg stand and take two jerky steps, his knife held carefully down. Erik realized what Charles was doing at just about the same moment that he felt a small tug on the canvas strap of his helmet and he whirled to hit Greg with the gun, but it wasn’t quite soon enough to prevent the henchman from cutting the strap.

“Dammit, Charles!” Erik screamed, the words full of anguish.

The same words he’d said while making love to Charles the day before.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion for Charles as he watched the helmet start to slide off Erik’s head while at the same time Erik started to bring the gun up to aim it at Charles, and Charles felt the mental rush of sensation that was Erik’s mind, accessible to him again--

_You have to trust him even when he doesn’t trust you._

Irene’s words from the funeral popped into Charles’ mind and he suddenly felt _This is the moment she was talking about._ His future, Erik’s future, and their future together was hanging by a thread. 

With a twist of his mind, Charles put everyone in the room to sleep except Erik, whose helmet by that point had fallen on the ground. There was a series of thunks as all five men fell over. 

Erik lowered his gun and stared at Charles. Since his helmet had slid off his head, Charles could feel everything he was feeling; an instant horrible guilt for having even thought of pointing the gun at Charles and an impotent rage that the men he’d wanted to hurt, or worse, were now passed out on the floor. “Why are you protecting them?” he snapped, his voice raw with emotion. “They took Kurt. They tortured Logan. They killed Azazel, and probably countless others!”

“I don’t care about them!” Charles said, responded, matching Erik’s tone. “I care about you. I don’t want murder on your conscience!”

Erik looked at the men, breathing harshly, a gun still in his hand, guns still floating around the room.

“I know you think--” Charles started.

“Get out of my head,” Erik snapped. 

Charles shut his mouth and tried to be as calm as possible while his heart pounded with fear and anxiety. “I’m going to find and rescue the other mutants,” He said after a moment, quietly. “You can come with me or stay here as you wish. I hope you will do the right thing regarding the men in front of you.”

And then he swallowed, because Charles didn’t know if he could protect Erik from the consequences if he did the wrong thing - but Charles couldn’t make that choice for him. 

Charles turned his back and left the room, following the minds he felt. He went through a series of open doors before he came to one that was locked. He was about to call for Erik when the door unlocked and Erik turned the corner of the hallway behind him. 

He didn’t say anything to Charles, and he didn’t make eye contact. He just motioned for Charles to continue. 

Had he killed the men or not? Something had delayed him. With a heavy heart, Charles continued. There were a few more locked doors that Erik silently opened before they came to a large room with many large cells in it. All four mutants were asleep, which made sense since Charles had pushed out his power like a blanket when he’d put the men upstairs to sleep.

“They’re being kept here, in cages? Like animals?” Erik said, anger coloring his voice. Charles did not reply and woke the four mutants up. 

None of them looked very surprised that they were being rescued. Charles supposed that precognitive Irene might have told them about it. All four seemed - cautiously optimistic. 

They followed Charles and Erik up the several staircases and through the hallways, but when they passed the lab, Irene grasped Charles’ sleeve. 

“The embryos,” She said to him, blinking owlishly at him through her thick glasses. “You can’t leave them here.”

“How did you know about...?” Charles looked at her for a full ten seconds before what she was saying registered and his heart constricted. He needed to collect the embryos in case they were viable, although he knew how unlikely that was, given that they were hastily generated and frozen early. But in case these men somehow survived Erik...he wasn’t going to let anyone have a clone of Raven if he could help it. 

It only took a few seconds for him the grab the three small canisters. He found a metal case inside of one the cabinets that was just big enough for the three dewars and he dumped out the contents - mostly paperwork - and put the canisters inside. 

The rest of the group was standing and watching him. Erik looked at the case in Charles’ hand, but didn’t say anything. 

“Tony’s here,” Charles said suddenly, when he felt the presence in his mind. “Outside, with the helicopter.” Erik nodded curtly, not looking at him. 

They got back to the MRI room, where the men were still passed out on the floor. Everyone’s hands and feet were bound with what looked like melted guns. Charles looked at Erik, who was looking back at him steadily. “I really hope Kurt is where you told me he is,” Erik said quietly. 

Charles had a sudden panicked thought - what if Tony had lied to him? Erik would never trust him again. 

Erik put his hand out and the large metal doors blew outward. 

“Hey, watch it,” Tony said, annoyed, as one of the doors just barely missed hitting the helicopter. 

Erik didn’t apologize. He walked up to Tony. “I need to borrow your phone,” he said. His face was blank, but his tone brooked no argument.

Tony frowned and looked at Charles. _I don’t know,_ Charles thought at him helplessly. 

Tony lifted an eyebrow and handed Erik his cell phone. Erik punched in a number. Everyone, including the four rescued mutants, looked at him expectantly. 

“Lorna?” He said when she answered. “Yes, I’m fine now, can you tell me--he is?” Erik looked at Charles and he suddenly appeared as if a huge weight had been lifted off him. “Yes, please. Hi, son,” Erik swallowed and tears shone in his eyes. “I miss you too, honey. I’ll be there soon.” He disconnected the call and let out a shuddering breath, handing it back to Tony. Then he indicated for everyone to get in the helicopter. 

It was a quiet and tense ride back to Charles’ apartment. Erik sat stiffly next to him and although Charles tried to keep out of his head he could feel the emotions roiling inside Erik - doubt, anger, guilt, rage, sadness, fear. 

Charles was experiencing the same emotions, of course, when he thought about his and Erik’s future. But also, the contents of the case he was carrying was starting to weigh on him. 

Irene kept looking anxiously back and forth between him and Erik, which, knowing her ability, wasn’t making the journey easier for Charles. 

“Hey, um, where are we going?” Angel finally asked. “I’m really grateful to be rescued and all but I don’t really have anywhere to go. I’m sure my landlord has re-leased my place by now.”

“There’s plenty of room at my apartment for all of you,” Charles said tiredly. “You can stay as long as you like.”

He felt the surprise and relief from all of them and realized he hadn’t been paying attention to their anxiety level. Well. He had worries of his own, after all. 

They landed on the probably-dangerous-and-almost-certainly-illegal landing pad that Tony had jury-rigged on the roof of their building. 

Erik was the first out, and he practically flew down the stairs to see Kurt. 

“You’re welcome,” Tony called to his retreating back. 

By the time Charles and the other mutants got in Charles’ front door, Kurt was laughing in Erik’s arms and Erik was grinning and Charles felt at least one of his emotional burdens disappear. 

“Go on, pick out rooms,” Charles said with a wave of his hand. “Only two are taken; there should be four available still.” He smiled as he watched Sean and Alex try to race each other up the stairs. 

Erik cleared his throat. He was standing next to Lorna, with Kurt in his arms. His face was carefully blank. “We’re going back to my place,” he said. 

Charles had trouble meeting his eyes. “Alright.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” Erik said, his voice emotionless despite the turmoil he was still feeling. And then they were gone. 

Charles closed his eyes and didn’t know how to feel. 

Then he heard several loud screams and shouts upstairs and realized the kids had found Hank. He chuckled despite his heavy heart.

Charles walked onto his balcony. He felt lost. He missed Erik already. He wanted a drink and he was tired of wanting a drink. At least his alcohol withdrawal pills were here. He took two and went out to his balcony with a glass of water. 

“Hiya, Honey-Bunny,” a familiar voice said. 

Charles snorted into his water glass. “Does anyone actually want to be called that?”

“Lots of people are happy to have me call them that,” Tony said defensively as he walked on to the balcony. He frowned at Charles. “What are you drinking?”

“Water,” Charles said tiredly, holding up the glass for inspection. Tony shook his head. 

“Ok, good, because, not that I judge, but, uh, there’s still some business to be dealt with,” Tony said awkwardly. 

Charles raised his eyebrows at Tony in skeptical anticipation. “Yes?”

“William Stryker of Stryker-Tech was one of the guys in that place, wasn’t he?”

“Yes,” Charles said, surprised that Tony had to ask. “Didn’t I tell you that before?”

Tony shook his head. “I had my suspicions, but I didn’t ask. Plausible deniability.”

“What does that even--” Charles began, feeling somewhat annoyed, but Tony spoke over him. 

“--I gathered that you left some bad guys tied up at that place,” Tony said. “Shouldn’t you call someone about that?”

Charles frowned. “Yes, good point. They’ve been that way for several hours already; don’t want to do permanent damage.” He stood up. 

“Wait.” Tony looked at Charles speculatively. “You didn’t leave any witnesses, did you?”

“Um.” Charles frowned. “What do you mean?”

“What are you gonna tell the cops? They were keeping mutated people as prisoners, but when they go there, they don’t find any prisoners?” Tony was looking at Charles expectantly. 

“Well,” Charles began. 

Tony made an exasperated sound. “This is taking too long. Let me just lay it out. Stryker is a known _government contractor_. That means the government is going to do everything they can to bury this problem for themselves, and Stryker  & Co may be doing business as usual in a week.”

And Erik would say _I told you so._ Charles winced. 

“None of those kids upstairs are gonna want to testify, and it’s not fair to ask them to,” Tony continued. “They’d be outed as freaks if they did. So would you and what’s-his-butt.”

Charles felt a helpless anger coiling up in him. “So, are you saying I should let Erik go back and kill them instead?” Charles snapped bitterly. 

Tony blinked once and jerked his head from side to side quickly. “ _What?_ No. Jesus. No, I’m just saying, let me call the media when you call the cops. I know some...reporters, and with the right spin, the right kind of media coverage could discredit Stryker-Tech and its subsidiaries permanently. Even _if_ the case against Stryker-Tech gets tanked by the government...they will have already lost in the court of public opinion.”

“Oh,” said Charles faintly. “Yes, that does make sense.” He glanced at Tony, who was standing in profile to him on the balcony, with evening city glow bouncing off his face. “So it all works out for you, then.”

One side of Tony’s mouth quirked. “Nah. I didn’t get the girl.”

Charles’ jaw dropped as he stared at Tony, offended. “Are you--I’m not a _girl_!”

“Oh yeah? Prove it.” 

Charles snorted as he saw Tony’s sly smirk and realized he’d been set-up. “That is not the best way to my penis, Tony.”

“Eh.” Tony shrugged. “I figured all the ways have effectively been blocked by what’s-his-butt.”

Charles didn’t respond for a moment as he looked out over the balcony. “We’ll see,” he said softly. 

Tony cleared his throat. “Hey, what’s in that case, anyway?”

“Ahh…” Charles glanced at the case which was sitting on his kitchen counter. 

“Is it a gun? A weapon? Chemical weapons? A new element? Nuclear-powered vibrator? I could do this all day.” 

“It’s…” Charles swallowed. He had been trying not to think about the case, because there was a mad, insane thought in his mind which both thrilled and terrified him about it. “It’s...frozen embryos. Clones. Of my sister.”

“I was about to guess that,” Tony said, and then realized that was an inappropriate response. “Oh, wait, are you serious?”

“They made me do it,” Charles said, the words coming out too fast, like he needed to explain. “They wanted super-soldiers. I--couldn’t leave them there.”

Tony didn’t ask why not, but Charles was about to answer it anyway, when Irene came downstairs and onto the balcony. “Are you and Erik okay?” she asked without preamble. “I’m just--worried.”

Charles didn’t know why it concerned her so much, but he shook his head. “I don’t know. We’re going to talk tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she said uncertainly. She gave the case with the embryos on the counter a quick caress before going upstairs. 

Charles frowned, as something tickled his memory. Something Irene had said…

“I’m off to bed,” Tony said abruptly, interrupting Charles’ train of thought. “Unless you’d like to come with me?”

Charles laughed and shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”

“You haven’t actually told me ‘no’,” Tony pointed out. “Besides, that was some of the best head I’ve gotten in my life.”

“Thank you for the kind words,” Charles said coolly. “But since I apparently haven’t been clear: ‘no’.” He lightened his rejection with a smile. Tony smiled and shrugged and turned to leave.

“Oh, and Tony,” Charles said before the other man exited Charles’ apartment completely. “You’re welcome.”

Tony looked at Charles incredulously. “ _I’m_ welcome? Isn’t that a little backwards?”

“It seems to me your major competitor for government contracts is about to go down in flames,” Charles said with a smirk. “I think that earns me a thank-you.”

Tony thought about that. “Good point. Hey, were we gonna make those calls? Police and media?”

“Let’s make the calls tomorrow,” Charles said after considering a moment. “Leaving the bad guys tied up overnight won’t kill them.”

“Now you’re thinking like what’s-his-butt,” Tony said, leaving with a wink. 

Charles supposed that was true, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that bothered about it.


	14. Trust

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate apologizing for late updates - and yet here I am. Thank you so much orfeo, Bunny, Lprock, and Not-Lord-voldy for the wonderful comments you gave me as this story progressed. I hope you like how everything turned out and if I forgot to tie something up, don't be afraid to ask - I left out some things that seemed completely tangential to the story. xoxo

Charles had trouble sleeping that night.

It wasn't just concern about his and Erik's relationship - although that was a big part - it was also the mental chatter of the other people sleeping nearby - and in fact, in the entire city. It seemed every few minutes someone would have an emotional spike that would wake Charles up just as he was drifting off to sleep. 

He almost missed that metal-lined room at the facility.

Charles lay awake in bed, thinking about what he should say to Erik and wondering what Erik was thinking about him. Charles thought he had made the right judgement call at the facility by not putting Erik to sleep for a third time, because Erik hadn't killed anyone, as much as Charles had felt in his mind that he wanted to. 

But maybe it had already been too late by then - maybe Erik had already decided he couldn’t trust Charles anymore.

Charles actually found himself missing the time when the most difficult part of his relationship with Erik had been that Erik had been married to Raven. Their new abilities just made everything so much more complicated. 

Finally, around what felt like four in the morning, Charles was able to reach a conclusion that felt right to him. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but hadn’t he learned those didn’t exist? He knew what he was going to do and what he was going to say to Erik, and he hoped it would be enough for Erik to trust him again. 

**

Far too early the next morning, Hank woke Charles up with one million questions about the day before which Charles did his best to answer before he just decided to push the information into Hank’s mind. 

Hank and Charles then went next door to Tony’s apartment and got him out of bed (and had to unfortunately bear witness to the sight of Tony wearing nothing but his Captain America boxers). Once Tony was dressed and had a cup of coffee, they all sat down to make the necessary phone calls to law enforcement and media. Hank actually made the phone calls to the police instead of Charles because with Charles’ British accent his voice was considered too recognizable - and Hank’s voice didn’t sound like his old pre-beast voice at all, or was at least different enough that there wasn’t a risk of his voice being recognized. 

When they were done, Tony and Hank shared a look and then Tony cleared his throat and looked at Charles. 

“So, the range of your, well, mental voice - that’s like a couple hundred miles, right?”

“Um,” said Charles. Tony kept talking. 

“Because Hank and I were talking about your ability and what it could do and I think that with the right kind of electrical structure you could broadcast to people thousands of miles away, or even all over the world!”

Charles winced. “That is the opposite of what I need right now, Tony.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be right now,” Hank said hastily.

“Sure, this project could take a while,” Tony said. “Maybe we can plan to get together next week? After you’ve had some down time?”

“Maybe,” Charles said faintly. He doubted it would ever happen; given that they’d had a sexual history, Charles doubted that Erik would be comfortable with Charles spending time with Tony. If Erik would even take him back. 

“Hank,” Charles said, “Do you by any chance have any thoughts about how one could - repress symptoms of the, um, flying sickness?”

Tony sat up straight and frowned at Charles. 

“Actually…” Hank chewed on his lip, which looked very difficult to do since he didn’t really have lips anymore. “I do have some thoughts. I’ve been wanting something that would control my, uh, appearance, and I expect it will affect my abilities too.”

“Do you--think something like that could work on me?”

Before Hank could answer, Tony interrupted, shaking his head. “Charles, what? You have a _superpower_ and you want to turn it off?”

“This ‘superpower’ has brought me nothing but headaches,” Charles snapped. 

Tony looked genuinely incredulous. “ _Nothing_ but headaches?”

Charles huffed in exasperation. “Well, the bad outweighs the good.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Did what’s-his-butt put you up to his?”

“No, he didn’t, and I know you know his name,” Charles said, annoyed. “I have my reasons, and right now I just want to know if it’s possible.”

Tony pressed his lips together as Charles ignored him to look at Hank. “I don’t know,” Hank admitted. “But I do plan to spend a lot of time working on it.” Hank’s cell phone rang just then and he looked at it in clear startlement before he excused himself and left the room to answer it. 

“I’m not going to see you any more, am I?” Tony asked quietly. 

“I thought I was the mind-reader,” Charles said with a weak smile. 

Tony looked away and didn’t say anything for a moment before he shook his head and looked up. “I don’t--Shit. I like you, Charles. I’m not even talking about--that way. I can behave, is I guess what I’m saying. Don’t shut me out.”

Charles grimaced and rubbed his face. “Please don’t make this harder than it is, Tony. You mainly want to be around me because you are fascinated by what you think of as my ‘superpowers’. But that’s a mute point, because I’m going to nullify that.”

Tony opened his mouth to object but Charles’ phone started ringing. They both looked at it. 

“Go on,” Tony said, his face blank. He could guess who was calling. “I know you want to.”

Charles declined the call from Erik and stood looking at Tony. He wanted to say that he and Tony could probably be friends if Erik didn’t take Charles back, but he couldn’t even contemplate that right now. And he knew that for all Tony’s flirting with him, Tony didn’t love Charles. He had a mild sexual interest and curiosity and he was infatuated with Charles’ ability. But Charles could also tell that Tony felt hurt and rejected right now. 

Charles stepped forward and hugged Tony. Tony accepted the hug and returned it warmly. Charles gave him a wan smile and went next door to his apartment to call Erik back. 

**

“Charles,” said Erik when Charles called him back. “I’d like to talk to you in person, if that’s acceptable to you.”

He sounded so - distant, so formal, that Charles could barely stand it. “Yes, of course,” he said, when he could speak evenly. “Should we meet somewhere?”

“I’d like to come to yours.”

“Alright,” Charles said faintly. He couldn’t hold back his tears anymore though. “Please, Erik, don’t--I want--Hank’s going to help me figure out how to make it all go away, so I can’t--do it again, but I’ll figure out how to get one of those helmets until he does that. I need you to trust me. I want--”

“Hank’s going to do what?” Erik asked sharply. “Did you say you want--a helmet?”

Charles swallowed, miserable. “We trusted each other until I started reading minds, Erik. If I fix that--”

“No,” Erik said firmly. “Charles, please don’t do anything--don’t--just be there, when I arrive? I’m on my way now. I’m bringing Kurt but Hank said he can watch him for a little while.”

“Why would it bother me if you bring Kurt?” Charles asked with a frown. “I’m not - jealous, Jesus, Erik. Not in the way you think. I love Kurt.”

“Good,” Erik said softly. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay,” said Charles, sniffing. At least Erik wasn’t going to do this in public. 

Charles went upstairs to see how his new guests were settling in and found that they were enjoying Charles’ apartment well - perhaps too well. Alex was putting small holes in the wall using red loops of energy that he had started generating and Sean had already broken two windows just by singing; apparently even a six-bedroom, three-level penthouse apartment was not big enough for some abilities. Angel was practicing flying - her wings seemed to be less vestigial than Charles had thought. Sean and Irene were deep in conversation, but Irene spared him a significant, worried glance. Charles didn’t want to know what she was so worried about, knowing her ability, so after making pleasantries with them and making sure they all knew that they were welcome to anything in his kitchen to eat, he went back downstairs.

Charles was feeling shaky when he came back downstairs, so he had a couple of the pills he had been prescribed for alcohol withdrawal. Despite taking the pills, he wanted a drink so bad he could almost taste it, and he remembered the pamphlets Dr. Munroe had given him. He really did need support on this, Charles thought. Whether Erik wanted him back or not, Charles realized that he was an alcoholic and he needed professional assistance with that problem. It was an uncomfortable conclusion in several ways but he couldn’t keep having a drink every time he felt upset and weak - it was literally ruining his life. 

Charles was so caught up thinking about that, and wondering what an alcohol recovery program would be like, that when he first saw a silver, man-shaped object flying a couple hundred feet off his balcony it didn’t register for a second. The man flew closer and Charles shook his head as he watched Tony approach the balcony railing. 

“Does the FAA approve of this endeavor?” He said with crossed arms and a reluctant smile as Tony maneuvered himself over the balcony railing and onto the balcony. 

Tony flipped up his faceplate to reveal - Erik.

Charles gasped. “Did you steal Tony’s suit?” he exclaimed. 

“Well, I tried,” Erik said, with half a smile. “But he caught me, and we, um, worked something out.”

Charles just stared at him a moment before shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine what you would have told Tony so that he would let you borrow this suit. You didn’t--hurt him, did you?”

Erik’s face shuttered and he looked down. “We definitely have trust issues,” he said quietly.

Charles opened his mouth to say something, but he had no words. They did have trust issues. 

“Tony agreed to let me borrow this suit--an older model, by the way, and stripped of all its tech--because I told him…” Erik sighed, looking unhappy. “...that I would not prevent him from being your friend.”

Charles continued staring at Erik, his brow furrowed. “Why?” he said finally. 

“Because I wanted to make a point,” Erik said softly, reaching for Charles and embracing him. Charles hugged him back - it was weird, with him in the metal suit - and then gasped as his feet started to leave the ground. He started to let go and Erik refused to let him go. “Put your legs around me,” Erik urged. 

“Erik…” Charles could tell what was coming.

“Please, Charles. You trust me with this, at least, don’t you?”

Charles had just witnessed Erik flying, off the balcony, and certainly, a part of him wanted to know what that was like. And he knew in his bones that Erik would sooner die first before he’d drop Charles. 

“Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Charles muttered as he wrapped his legs around the silver metal suit. 

Erik’s familiar, handsome face was grinning right next to him. “Ready?”

Charles clung tighter and laughed, a little bit hysterically. “I trust you,” he said. 

“Good,” Erik murmured and they rose into the air, off the balcony. 

Charles clung tight with his eyes closed. He could feel the breeze around them, the June sunlight on his head - he could hear the change in the echoes of the small sounds of their movement and combined breathing that they were no longer in the three-quarters enclosure of his balcony. 

“Are you seeing this, Charles?” Erik’s voice was close, and warm, and affectionate. 

“I’m working up the nerve to open my eyes,” Charles admitted, and then he did - to see what he expected to see, but it was still insane and thrilling to be higher than most buildings, to be up where birds were flying. “Oh my god!” he gasped. 

Erik chuckled. “I wanted to show you that there is a wonderful, amazing side to our new abilities, not just the potential for pain and damage. And not just mine. Yours, too.”

“I feel like all I’ve done is invade people’s privacy and take away their free will,” Charles said. “And deprived myself of sleep.”

“There’s so much you could do, though, Charles,” Erik said. “You could help people who are hurting and can’t speak. You could help other people like us who are too afraid to do anything but hide.”

Charles thought about that. It sounded good, but...“I made you sleep twice, Erik. You still trust me with the power to do that?”

Erik was quiet a moment. “I almost raised a gun to you yesterday, Charles.”

“You never would have shot me,” Charles said firmly. 

Erik smiled at him, even though there was a tear in his eye. “No, I never would,” he agreed. 

Charles still felt that he betrayed Erik’s trust worse than Erik had betrayed his. “I want you to be able to trust me, and I need to be able to sleep, so if I can wear a helmet until Hank can come up with something--”

“I don't want that,” Erik said, simply. “You haven’t been able to accomplish any kind of natural shielding?”

“Well…” Charles remembered right after he had expanded his abilities that he had been able to block out most of the chatter, for a while. Maybe he could work on that more. “A little bit,” he admitted. 

“There might be some pretty fun ways to incorporate your ability in bed, too, you know,” Erik said in a deep voice, with a suggestive tone. “You could make me feel what you’re feeling, or vice-versa - could probably make us climax simultaneously every time.”

Charles thought about that, and his penis even showed a little interest. “Can you kiss and fly at the same time?” Charles murmured. 

“Let’s find out,” Erik whispered, slotting his mouth against Charles’. They kissed, floating above New York City, until the surreality of it made them both start laughing and they ended up just gazing into each other’s eyes. Charles could feel the bright, joyful blossom of love for him that Erik felt and for once Charles let himself bask in it instead of shrinking from it. 

“You really trust me?” Charles whispered.

Erik met his eyes and nodded, solemnly. “I do, Charles. You didn’t put me to sleep or take over my mind when it mattered most. You decided to trust me, and honestly that might have been why I didn’t kill Stryker - even though I really, really wanted to.”

“I know you did,” Charles whispered. “Maybe you just didn’t have it in you to shoot men who were unconscious?”

“You say that like it's a bad thing,” Erik said, with a twist to his lips. 

“It’s not a bad thing,” Charles whispered back, with a big smile. He was starting to feel like maybe this would all work out. 

“We’ve almost reached our destination,” Erik said. “Please put your tray tables away and do not stand up until your pilot gives you the go-ahead.”

Charles giggled as Erik flew them over a railing to a different, smaller balcony - Charles frowned in puzzlement until he recognized it. “This is your old apartment!” He exclaimed, unlocking his ankles from around Erik’s back. He peered through the balcony door to the inside. “Aren’t there other people living here now?” 

“They aren’t home,” Erik said dismissively. At Charles’ alarmed look, Erik said, “We won’t be here long. I just wanted to do this someplace that was special to us - the place I fell in love with you.”

“This balcony?” Charles turned to smile at Erik incredulously. 

“Well, at least that’s when I realized it,” Erik said, with a little color high on his cheeks. “The first time you wore my jacket. That old army jacket, do you remember?”

Charles nodded, not trusting his voice to respond. 

"Charles," Erik said in a carefully even voice, a statement he had obviously prepared. "We have faced a lot of problems in the four years we’ve known each other, but nothing has made my love waver. Even in the face of horrible tragedies and superhuman complications you are the best person I know. “ Charles opened his mouth to object and Erik gently brushed two fingers across his lips to silent him. “Yes, I know you’re flawed. You drive me crazier than anyone I've ever met. You are stubborn to a fault, and I honestly think you probably need quite a lot of therapy, but you also always put others’ needs before your own and want to help everyone--even when that’s not in your best interests.”

Charles opened his mouth again to speak, but he couldn’t find the words. Tears were starting to prickle his eyes as he guessed where this was going.

"And I will never, could never stop loving you for those things no matter how long I tried," Erik said. "I don't want to live a life where you're not by my side, Charles. Even with so much changed about us, about our family, our friends, and about this world we live in: I still love you more deeply than I could possibly hope to articulate.

"When I left your apartment last night, Charles, I didn’t know how you felt about me--I thought maybe you seeing how much I really did want to kill those men yesterday had changed your love for me, or made you realize that you couldn’t be with me. And then when I spoke to you this morning on the phone and realized that you wanted to give up your abilities to be able to be with me...well, your abilities are a part of you, and I want all of you. So even though I was planning on asking you this anyway - borrowing the suit was a last-minute improvisation.

Erik got down on one knee. “My point is, even though I hope you say yes, even if I thought you would say ‘no’ and tell me you never want to see me again, I would be asking you anyway because I would regret it until the day I died if I didn’t: Will you marry me?" The words came out in a tumble and Erik blinked rapidly to try and hold his tears back as he held up a open ring box that had a gold band studded with tiny diamonds in it. 

Charles had a hand over his mouth and tears freely flowing down his face. "Not _fair_ ," he gasped. "I asked you--and you said _no_ \--not fair..."

Erik just looked up at him, his face lined, his green eyes red-rimmed and supplicating, patient, waiting for Charles to respond.

Charles sank to his knees, wiping his eyes and nose and trying to get his crying under control. He pushed the ring box down. "Erik. I want to say yes, but...we need to talk about something first.”

Fear flashed across Erik's face, for a split second, before it was replaced by his neutral face, the one he wore when he didn't want people to know he was sad or angry or worried. “Okay,” he said carefully. He looked at Charles, waiting for an explanation.

"You know how much I want a family," Charles began. "That's why--well, that's why I left you seven months ago."

A muscle twitched in Erik's cheek but he just nodded. 

"That case I brought back with me,” Charles whispered, searching Erik’s eyes. “Dr. Essex made me make clones of Raven. He wanted to make super soldiers. I started with eight embryos, and five of them died, but three are still viable, and they are at my apartment right now.”

Erik just looked at him for a moment before realization started to creep over his face. “You want--wait. You want to find a surrogate mother to gestate and give birth to a baby that is a clone of Raven so you can raise her as a daughter?”

Charles closed his eyes at how ridiculous it sounded. "More than I think I've ever wanted anything," he admitted, feeling the yearning so sharply it was almost a physical sensation. 

"Charles," Erik said with a slightly confused tone, "Did you think I wouldn't want this?" 

"I don’t know," Charles said, not meeting Erik’s eyes. "You already have a daughter and a son."

Erik pulled Charles to him and looked into his eyes from so close it was hard to focus. "And now I'll have two daughters." He kissed Charles, then starting softly, but it rapidly picked up heat.

Charles pulled back after a moment, his expression flickering back and forth between joy and horrible doubt. “Really, Erik? I mean, at the very least there are problematic ethical elements to this situation, and--”

Erik coughed out a laugh. “The only ‘problematic element’ that interests me right now is what your answer is to my proposal.” 

“Oh,” Charles said in surprise, fresh tears sliding down his face. “Of course my answer is yes. God, Erik. Having a family with you, raising children with you, is basically all I have wanted since practically the day we met. I know I’ve said some stupid things over the past week...but in my defense it has been a pretty rough week. Yes. Yes I will marry you.”

Erik choked out a sound that turned into something that sounded embarrassingly like a sob, and then they were both crying, and kissing, and it was wet and messy and wonderful. 

After a few minutes, Erik spoke again, Charles’ head resting on his metal-clad shoulder. “So we’re going to have a little blond girl? A little Raven?” Erik asked softly, pushing a lock of Charles’ hair out of his eyes. 

“Well,” Charles licked his lip as he realized there were still several hurdles to overcome. “I don’t think she’ll be blond. I think she’ll have red hair. And blue skin. So she won’t look like the Raven we knew, but...in a way we can still have Raven with us.”

Erik looked at him curiously. “You think she’ll be born with the flying--err, mutation? You don’t think she would have to be exposed to a certain frequency of electromagnetism before that happens?”

“No,” Charles said, thinking about the embryonic clones of Logan, and how they didn’t die and yet didn’t get older - just like Logan. “I’m not 100% certain, but I have reason to believe she will have her--mutation from birth. Is that,” he swallowed, “going to be a problem?”

A slow smile grew on Erik’s face as he shook his head, his eyes searching Charles’ face. “Not at all,” he said softly. “I already have one blue child - it’s probably good for Kurt to have a little sister who is also blue.”

“A little sister,” Charles whispered, as he suddenly remembered Irene saying those exact words to him at Raven’s funeral. He stood up in shock. “Irene. She knows. She knows something about this! Erik, we have to go talk to her!”

Erik stood up as well. “She has been right about everything, hasn’t she?” he said, thinking back. “She told me someone would try to take Kurt, and she told Raven that you and I would raise Kurt together.”

“She told me I needed to trust him even when he didn’t trust me,” Charles said. He made quick eye contact with Erik, but didn’t feel the need to belabor that point, as they had already discussed trust in length. “But she told me something else. Something about a little sister.”

Erik nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s go talk to her. But first--” Erik put the ring on Charles’ finger then. 

“I don’t think think I’m supposed to wear that until our wedding day,” Charles murmured. 

“I don’t care,” Erik said. “I want you to wear it now.”

Charles smiled at Erik, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “This is a beautiful ring, but it’s a little big. I’ll have to have it--oh!” Charles exclaimed in surprise as the ring tightened slightly around his finger. 

“Better?” Erik inquired mildly. Charles just kissed him in response.

There was a noise from inside the apartment, and both men snapped their heads towards the sound. 

“I guess that’s our cue,” Erik said, and Charles hopped up and wrapped his legs around his boyfriend - his fiance - with a grin. 

They floated back to Charles’ current apartment, both feeling even lighter than before.

“When you left last night, I thought…” Charles trailed off because articulating it seemed like a bad omen. 

“I’m sorry about that,” Erik said gently. “I didn’t know where we stood, and I owed Lorna some time, and a lot of explanations. And, I remembered what you said about sleeping, and how it was easier for you when other people weren’t around.”

“I want to sleep with you; we’ll figure something out,” Charles said seriously. “Although, honestly, ever since I used that machine to expand my power, just being in the city is...unpleasant. It’s kind of the mental equivalent of being surrounded by mosquitoes all the time.”

Erik floated them towards Charles’ current apartment’s balcony. “Do you want to move out of the city?”

Charles considered. “It makes sense,” he said slowly. “Especially if we have two blue children - and, we should probably homeschool them.” They landed and Charles unwound his legs from around Erik.

Erik nodded. “And--what about--I mean, you said this before, and you’re right, about the importance of community - do you want to find..a church? Or…” Erik trailed off, awkwardly. 

Charles thought about that, and about the fact that Erik had _heard_ him and his concerns about raising children, and that Erik was trying. And he thought about how their world had changed so much, so fast. “No,” he said, resolutely, as a smile stole across his face. “Kurt and Maggie won’t be the only ones needing community. Hank and Angel and Sean and Alex and Irene do too.” He looked at Erik, who was looking at Charles with a mix of love and amazement. 

“We’ll make our own community,” Erik said, as he turned the idea over in his mind. Then he noticed something else about what Charles had said. “Wait, did you already name…?”

“And we’ll buy a big house, with room for everyone!” Charles said excitedly. “Somewhere away from the city. Upstate, maybe.”

“Oh, you want them all to _live_ with us?” Erik said, surprised, trying not to look as dismayed about that as he felt. “Take a step back, darling; I don’t want you hurt.” Charles took two steps back and watched as the metal suit unpeeled itself in pieces from Erik’s body. 

“A _really_ big house,” Charles emphasized. “And...yes, I did sort of think that the name Maggie could come from Magpie--you know, a bird, like Raven…” he looked adorably contrite. 

Erik nudged Charles. “I think we’ve been spotted.” 

Charles lifted his head to look through the glass balcony doors where Erik indicated and saw a flash of movement accompanied by a shriek and a giggle. He chuckled. “Let’s go inside and talk to Irene.”

They stood up and walked inside, hand in hand. Irene was waiting for them, standing by the case, her hand on it, a big smile on her face. 

“Everything that was blurry cleared up,” she said with a big smile. “I’m so glad!”

Charles gave her a puzzled smile. “We know you see the future, Irene. How much do you see?”

Her smile faded a bit and she pushed her thick glasses up on her nose. “I’ve been seeing more and more clearly as time has passed. Not everything - I don’t know why, but...you two are very important to my future.”

Charles and Erik exchanged a glance. “Why’s that?” Erik said. 

“Well, you will both be important to all mutants,” she said slowly. “But that’s true in any future. There are a lot of futures darker than the one you made today. There are so many where Charles is hurt, paralyzed...so many where you two end up on opposite sides of a battlefield.”

Charles’ mouth opened and a cold fear gripped him as he contemplated living a life in a wheelchair and without Erik by his side. 

“I couldn’t have saved Raven,” she said suddenly. “There was no future where - where she - I really hate this new ability sometimes,” Tears came to Irene’s eyes and Charles rushed to hug her. 

“Believe me, I know how you feel,” he murmured into her brown hair. 

“What do you mean, ‘the future we made today’?” Erik asked. 

Irene wiped her eyes, one arm still around Charles. “This is the future that is the best for - well, me,” she said, suddenly shy. “And all mutants, coincidentally, so I’m not completely selfish.”

“You said Kurt was going to have a little sister,” Charles said with a frown. Irene’s thoughts were harder to read than most people because her perception of time and reality had a dimension to it that most minds didn’t, but he definitely could feel from her a lot of awareness and concern about the metal case. 

Irene nodded. “Only one of these three is actually viable,” she said. “I don’t know which one - I don’t have any way to know that - but I know who the surrogate mother is.”

Charles looked at Irene with an open mouth. “Irene - is - is it you?”

“Oh, god no,” She said, seemingly horrified by the very idea. “No - um - that’s - no. It’s Angel. There are some other possibilities, but she is the best choice.”

Charles and Erik looked at each other again. “Angel,” Charles murmured. 

“You should ask her nicely,” Irene said, as an afterthought. “She doesn’t know it yet.”

“Why is this the best future for you?” Erik asked. 

Irene looked a little anxious, suddenly very young and very human. “I don’t know if I should tell you that,” she said, looking between Charles and Erik. “Charles won’t approve.”

“I won’t?” Charles asked, surprised. Then he suddenly had to know, and before he even thought about looking, the answer was floating to the surface in Irene’s mind. His jaw dropped in shock. “But - she’s - she will be - twenty-three years younger than you!”

“Can someone fill me in, please?” Erik asked mildly. 

“She wants to marry our daughter,” Charles said, frowning. 

“Aren’t we all getting ahead of ourselves a bit?” Erik asked.

Charles was glaring at Irene and she was looking at him sadly. “I’m really not comfortable with that,” Charles said.

“You will be,” Irene said gently. “But not for a long time.”

“Charles,” Erik murmured. “You do realize that you are being overprotective of a person who doesn’t even exist yet?”

Charles thought about the entirety of the situation and he had to laugh a little and shake his head. “I guess we should go talk to Angel.”

**

Since Irene had specified that they should ask nicely, Charles did most of the talking when they asked Angel if she would consider being a surrogate mother. Erik did speak up when he realized Charles was glossing over the fact that the baby would probably be blue and possibly covered with scales, but Angel didn’t seem discouraged by that. Neither of them was too keen on explaining that the baby was a clone of Raven, but when Charles finally did, it seemed that was the thing that convinced Angel. 

“I mean…” Angel shrugged. “I knew Raven. We worked together at Frost Massage. She was good people. And I kind of owe you guys...I’m pretty sure they were going to cut into my brain if I had stayed in that facility much longer. So...yeah. I’ve never really wanted kids, but pregnancy is a different thing...I guess I’ve been curious about that. Can I keep staying here, though?”

“You can stay whether you want to be a surrogate mother or not,” Charles assured her, but right then there was a sound like an explosion from downstairs and all three of them went running down to take a look. 

Alex was looking incredibly guilty, standing in front of a hole in the living room wall that a car could fit through. Tony was standing next to him, looking very excited. 

“Tony,” Charles said sternly. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“The kid wanted a little more juice,” Tony said, having the good grace to look slightly abashed. “I thought he would get more control, but he just got...well, look at what he did!” Tony’s voice was suddenly inordinately proud. 

“You’re paying for that,” Charles said with a glare. “It needs to be in good shape when I sell it. We’re moving upstate, by the way - we’re going to start looking for a house with land soon.”

At the stricken look on everyone’s face, Erik spoke up. “Any mutant has a home there with us,” he said, adding quickly, “Charles assures me it will be a very large house.”

“Any mutant, huh? So not me?” Tony looked back and forth between Charles and Erik. 

“You can come visit as often as you like,” Charles said, with a warm smile to Tony. He glanced at Erik. “Isn’t that right, Erik?”

“Of course,” Erik said, with a smile that looked like it was a little bit painful. 

**

_July, 2018._

By a crazy coincidence, Charles and Erik ended up buying the estate Charles had grown-up in in Westchester - it had been foreclosed on because Charles’ step-brother Cain had mortgaged it to pay off debts and then he couldn’t pay the mortgage. So Charles bought it from the bank for what he assured Erik was an excellent price, even though the number of digits in that number made Erik choke. 

It needed a lot of work, but between themselves and the mechanized help that Tony was able to provide, it was livable very soon. They extended the invitation to Logan to live with them, and he declined, but he did visit frequently and helped quite a bit with remodeling the home as well.

William Stryker and Nathaniel Essex were convicted of the murder of Azazel Romanov, which is about all that could be pinned on them with the evidence left behind. They were both sentenced with life in prison and StrykerTech fell apart. Tony was unapologetically thrilled.

Hank and his wife Nadia tried to make their relationship work for about a month, until she told him she simply couldn’t handle his new form. He discovered to his surprise though that a lot of women _did_ like his furry form quite a bit and he never lacked for female companionship when he placed a Craigslist ad. 

Charles entered a 30-day alcohol recovery program during Angel’s pregnancy and with Erik’s support and encouragement he never had a drink again.

Hank wanted to offer a testing service to people so they could determine if they had un-activated mutant genetics - it was one of the only times Erik got angry with Hank, or anyone got angry with Hank, really. Lorna approached Hank quietly and asked if she could be tested and discovered the she did have genetic marker, but she decided not to activate it. She eventually finished her degree in engineering and worked at Stark Industries, and although she did not live at the mansion she did visit frequently. 

 

_April, 2019_

Irene lived at the mansion along with Charles, Erik, Angel, Kurt, Sean, Alex, and Hank until the day Angel gave birth, which she did at the mansion, with Hank’s assistance. The baby girl was blue ‘but otherwise healthy,’ Hank proclaimed, which was a phrasing Erik wasn’t really happy with but he held his tongue. The baby - whom they named Maggie, of course - started to grow scales when she was a couple months old. 

Irene didn’t say goodbye - she just disappeared the day after Maggie was born and nobody knew where she had gone.

Tony and Hank - with some help from Erik, mostly moving giant metal panels - did build the device that Tony had talked to Tony about the day after their escape from the facility. They called it Cerebro, and one of the first things Charles noticed when he used it is how many people there were in the world with mutations that they were terrified to reveal. He found the little red-haired telepath that Stryker had told him about, Jean, and Erik went to talk to her parents and to invite her to come to Westchester (alone, because Charles stayed at home with Maggie and Kurt). 

Erik’s invitation was politely declined, and Erik came back with feedback for Charles: if people thought they were sending their mutant children to a special school Erik thought more mutant parents would be willing to let their children go to Westchester. Charles said he didn’t want to lie and they should start an _actual_ school - he missed teaching, anyway. 

It was slow getting the school started, especially with two energetic children to care for. It seemed like something was always getting blown up or destroyed, although in the mutants’ defense, about half the time it was directly or indirectly because of Tony Stark. 

 

_October, 2023_

The years passed too quickly. Little Maggie adored Kurt, and would follow him around frequently, to his great annoyance, until he began being able to teleport away when he was about eight years old. The first evidence they had that Maggie could shapeshift was that she grew a tail like Kurt’s when she was about three years old. 

Erik was on a recruitment trip in California when Charles texted him a picture with the caption, “You have two sons!” - the picture showed an irritable-looking Kurt next to a slightly smaller and very self-satisfied version of Kurt. 

As Kurt grew older, he was a calm and almost spiritual person - he took his time to respond when people spoke to him and didn’t waste words. He started studying the bible and attending church of his own accord shortly after he entered puberty. It disgruntled Erik, but Charles was supportive of Kurt even though his beliefs were not shared by Erik and Charles. Maggie, however, was precocious and adorable as a child, but as a teenager she was a handful. She was rebellious even when there was nothing to rebel against, covering her skin with sometimes offensive tattoos, wearing a different hair and eye color nearly every day. She was rarely blonde with hazel eyes, probably because one day when she had worn that combination, Charles had gotten ‘all super mushy’ as she called it. 

She experimented with sex early on, to Erik’s chagrin, but to both Charles’ and Erik’s surprise she did not have Raven’s asexual orientation. She refused to categorize herself, even in her own mind (which Charles kept tabs on until they had a huge fight about it when Maggie was sixteen), but she had started hanging out in bars from the age of about fifteen, disguising herself so that she looked old enough not to get carded, and would often spend time with both men and women that she felt attracted to. It kept Charles awake at night, worrying about her, but he was enough in contact with her mind (with her permission) to know that she was smart and careful. She reminded him wonderfully, painfully, so much of Raven even though she was clearly different in so many ways. 

 

_August, 2036_

When Maggie was seventeen she brought someone home, a woman who was far too old for her, an attractive woman who appeared to be in her late thirties. “Hello, Charles,” Irene said, with a fond smile. 

The thick glasses were gone, and her wild, hippie hair had been cut short into a very chic bob. 

“Maggie is _seventeen,_ ” Charles hissed, but Erik rubbed his shoulder soothingly. _Charles. Give her a chance._

Charles reluctantly held his tongue, and by the time Maggie and Irene got married, four years later, Charles had come to accept their relationship and he loved Irene as part of the family. 

The school became a highly-renowned institution that they called the Xavier-Lehnsherr Institute for Mutant Studies. It even became accredited, as both Charles and Erik were able to put more time into it once their children were grown. They became famous as mutant activists and leaders in the mutant community - Charles more in an academic sense and Erik more in a got-thrown-in-jail for protesting about once every few months. 

_May, 2038_

Two years after Maggie and Irene had gotten married, one Saturday morning Erik woke Charles up far earlier than strictly necessary. “We forgot something,” Erik murmured, kissing his chest. 

“Mmm, that’s nice,” Charles murmured back, sleepily stroking a hand down Erik’s back. “What did we forget?”

“We forgot to get married,” Erik replied, continuing his kisses down Charles’ torso.

“We didn’t _forget_ ” Charles responded in exasperation. “We’ve been busy! Kids, school, students…”

That was all true, and they had talked many times over the years about it - had started and paused wedding planning more times than they could count. They had thrown up their hands a dozen times in frustration because trying to find a date when everyone who was important to them could be in one place at one time was simply impossible.

“Let’s do it today,” Erik said, with a twinkle in his eye. His hair had gone white, but at least he still had hair. “Your tuxedo has been cleaned and pressed and is hanging in your closet.”

“Erik - _today_? Where are we going? What about Maggie and Irene? Kurt’s in Germany…” He realized what was ridiculous about that the moment he said it; Kurt was a teleporter.

Erik kissed him firmly. “Kurt was in Germany to collect my mother, Charles. We’re doing it here. Everyone is here. I’ve been working on this for months. I’m going to get changed now and I suggest you do the same...if you still want to marry me. It was a long time ago when you said yes.”

“Of course I want to marry you,” Charles said, with tears in his eyes. He had always cried easily and he found that hadn’t changed, even well into middle-age. He peeked out the window, towards Erik’s favorite gazebo, where he knew instinctively would be the place and saw them all - Hank, Maggie and Irene, Kurt, Logan, Angel, Alex, Jean, Sean, even Tony and Pepper and so many more; all the friends they gained over the years as well. 

He looked over at Erik, who looked exceptionally pleased with himself. “How did you keep this from me?” he said in disbelief, shaking his head. 

“Mental discipline,” Erik responded softly, kissing Charles one more time. Charles felt him thinking about late night emails and phone calls made after Charles had gone to sleep, and how he had carefully avoiding thinking about it whenever Charles was around. 

“I love you,” Charles said, hugging Erik fiercely, and feeling the warmth of Erik returning his love mentally. 

“Time to make an honest man out of you,” Erik said, with one final kiss before he left the room so Charles could change. 

THE END


End file.
